


These Ghosts Might Be Mine

by PeaceHeather



Series: Merlin fics [4]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternative Perspective, Fix-It, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Season/Series 01, season 1 rewrite, time-travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-11 10:36:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 68,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8976253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeaceHeather/pseuds/PeaceHeather
Summary: Arthur is pretty sure he died, so why is he waking up in his own bed in Camelot, and how did he end up ten years in the past? And where the hell is Merlin?





	1. Waking Up

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to everyone! I've been writing less and reading more lately, but a couple people asked what I was up to, and then I finally came up with a decent ending for this thing I've been noodling around on, and now I'm thinking I might have more ideas for how to continue it possibly. No guarantees, though, as that would be a pretty damn long fic if I were to really take it on, and I'm not sure I have the juice for it right now. Still, I hope you enjoy what I have so far.

Arthur wakes up.

Ordinarily, this would not be such a big deal, except that he quite clearly remembered dying: asking Merlin to hold him, to keep him close, as the wound in his side finally stopped hurting and then he stopped feeling anything at all. He remembered everything going quiet, hearing Merlin call his name as if from a great distance, and Arthur had wanted to stay, he truly had, but he'd been so tired. The promise of rest had been too comforting, too compelling, to ignore.

He'd forgiven Merlin for hiding his sorcery from him; had realized just how brave, how loyal, how true his friend had always been. A great man had hidden by Arthur's side, disguised in servant's clothing. Arthur had wanted more time, time to know this man who had only just revealed his true self to his king and stayed by his side as he lay dying. Had done everything in his power, Arthur knew, to try and save his life.

But now, Arthur is awake, and nothing hurts. He opens his eyes and finds himself in his chambers as if he had never left, as if he weren't at war with the Saxons. With Morgana.

Hurriedly, Arthur flings the covers back and lifts his nightshirt. There is no wound. There isn't even a scar.

He looks around the room, and sees that the shutters are still closed, but the glimmer of predawn light is seeing through the cracks. There is no sign of Merlin, but this early in the day, there generally isn't.

Had Camelot won the war while Arthur slept? Had he been healed? How did he get back here? Why is no one sitting at his bedside?

Arthur gets up, stretching, and notices something else. The lingering ache in his shoulder, which he'd had ever since he'd battled the Questing Beast, is gone. He rubs at it absently, running his thumb over the place where he carries the scar, only nothing is there. His skin is completely smooth.

"Merlin," he says under his breath, "what have you done?"

He steps over to the window and pulls back the shutter, looking out over the courtyard. It is early enough that few people are moving, but Arthur's heart lurches at the sight of the workers putting the finishing touches on the headsman's platform in the center.

Whom are they executing? On whose orders? Perhaps Guinevere discovered a traitor…

Where is Guinevere, come to that?

Arthur looks around his chambers and sees no sign of her presence. She hasn't sat by his bedside while he recovered, nor has she slept in his bed. Even her wardrobe is missing, and he frowns.

Perhaps Gaius will know what is going on. Arthur needs to speak to him about Merlin, anyway, and that's a conversation best kept private.

* * *

All thoughts of what he will say to Gaius flee right out of Arthur's head, when he sees his father down one corridor, speaking to one of the members of his high council. The two men seem perfectly casual, but Arthur can barely breathe. He ducks out of sight as they turn his way.

The councilor Arthur remembers had hair that had all turned white, but this man is still salt-and-pepper. Uther looks to be the picture of health, but the fact that he is even alive in the first place is enough for Arthur to deal with right now.

What in hell is going on?

* * *

Arthur moves through the castle as silently as possible, which is beginning to come to life as the sun rises. He can't help but recognize the faces of people he hasn't seen in years—knights who were killed, councilors who retired or died of old age, at least one servant that he thinks was banished. Everyone looks younger than he remembers.

He sees Guinevere, dressed in servant's clothing, carrying a basket of linens down toward the laundry. He doesn't greet her.

* * *

Gaius's door is shut, so Arthur knocks, half-dreading and half-hoping that Merlin will answer it. He doesn't, and Gaius, just like all the older people Arthur has seen so far, looks years younger than he ought to.

"Good morning, sire," the physician says, looking him up and down with a practiced eye. "How may I help you?"

"I'm not sure yet," replies Arthur, stepping into the room and closing the door firmly behind him. Gaius's room looks the same as always, but that doesn't tell Arthur what he needs to know. He ignores the physician's spluttering while he checks out the space that is supposed to be Merlin's quarters.

It's empty of any sign of his friend; no clothes, none of Merlin's few belongings fill the cupboards. The bed is nothing more than one of Gaius's patient cots, without so much as a pillow to soften it, and the blanket folded neatly at its foot. The shelf is covered in dusty bottles, where Arthur remembers seeing keepsakes that Merlin had collected over the years. The cupboard contains equally dusty books in a neat row.

"Sire, is there something you needed from my store of supplies? I can get it for you if you tell me what it is."

Gaius sounds insistent, and well he should. Arthur has barged into his space in the earliest hours of the morning; looking behind him, he realizes the older man is still in his nightshirt, with a robe hastily pulled on over it.

"I'm… not sure," Arthur says finally, watching as Gaius's eyebrow rises skeptically. Arthur fishes for an excuse and comes up with, "I had a strange dream. Very lifelike. I wanted to check that what I had seen was not true."

That was perhaps the wrong thing to say, given the way Gaius goes a little pale. "A dream, you say?" Of course; Arthur is an idiot. Morgana had suffered from poor sleep for years before she turned to sorcery and betrayed them all.

It occurs to Arthur to wonder: if Uther is still alive, then what of Morgana?

"It's nothing, I'm sure," says Arthur quickly, and tries a smile. "Probably something I ate last night."

"If I may say so, sire, you do look a little peaky. Are you sure you aren't running a fever or the like?"

"No no, quite sure. I might be feeling a little disoriented from my… from my dream." He rubs at his head, and then tries a different tack. "You wouldn't happen to know today's date, by any chance? I'm afraid it's slipped my mind."

Gaius does not look convinced, but he answers anyway. "It is the fourteenth of April, sire—or at least, I think it's the fourteenth. The twenty-fourth year of Uther's reign, of course."

"…Of course. Thank you, Gaius."

Only a lifetime at court allows Arthur to keep his composure as he says his farewells and returns to his chambers.

The date Gaius has given him is a little over ten years in Arthur's past.

* * *

Arthur scrambles to find the mirror behind his changing screen, and stares at his reflection until a servant comes in with his breakfast. There were little wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes that are gone, and his face is just a touch rounder than he remembers. It may be conceit talking, but Arthur thinks he looks overall less… weary. Less burdened.

But then, if he's still only the prince, that would make sense.

Has Morgana left them? He'll have to wait, and see if he crosses paths with her anywhere around the palace. There is no way for Arthur to ask after her that won't make him seem like a madman.

There is no way for Arthur to figure out _any_ of what has happened to him, without seeming like a madman. And there is only one person in all the world that Arthur could feel safe talking to about any of this, but he isn't here.

Did Arthur dream Merlin's existence, dream the past (future) ten years of his life? Or did he die truly, and the gods have given him a gift, allowing him to come back and rectify the mistakes he's made?

Will it prove to be truly a gift, or more of a curse?

Arthur's door opens, and he startles behind the screen. The servant who bears his breakfast isn't Merlin, although Arthur thinks he at least looks vaguely familiar. Before Merlin had come along, Arthur hadn't kept a regular manservant. Partly he'd felt that a prince of Camelot shouldn't need someone to wait on his every whim, but mostly, as Guinevere had pointed out to him (except that she hasn't yet, might never), it was because he was, possibly, a bit of a bully to them and none of them wanted to stay in his service for more than a few days.

"Sire. You're… already awake."

"My sleep was disturbed," says Arthur, which is true enough. "Tell me what is planned for the day." It's a risk to reveal that he doesn't already know, but it shouldn't be too unreasonable for him to ask.

"Er… well. I think His Majesty wanted you to join him at council this morning, sire, but I'm not sure…"

"Go on."

"There's the execution at noon, of course. And yesterday, sire, you did have me polish your armor, so that you could train this afternoon."

"Of course," said Arthur. He had always made a habit of finding something to distract him from dark thoughts, whenever his father brought someone to the block, gallows, or pyre. He couldn't escape watching the executions, most of the time, but afterward, if he couldn't flee the castle completely, he'd go to the training fields and stay there until he had exhausted himself. It was the only way that he knew he would be able to fall asleep without seeing the last expression on the face of the poor condemned.

Arthur hadn't executed someone for sorcery more than a handful of times in all his reign, and each time the evidence against them had been clear, not only that they used magic, but that they used it maliciously against others. But now, here, his father still ruled, and the Great Purge was still underway with a vehemence and enthusiasm that turned Arthur's stomach to look back on. Uther never cared about the reasons behind someone's use of magic, never cared if they had tried to help or heal.

Arthur tries to think of Merlin being led to his death and has to swallow bile. "Bring me a drink," he says, then stalks over to the table and pours it for himself, ignoring the way the servant flinches back.

* * *

The council session is both boring and informative, at the same time; Arthur spends the time observing the other councilors and how they interact with his father, and ignores most of what is actually said. Instead, he does his best to get used to the fact that Uther is here at all, alive and well, and that Arthur has apparently been flung backward in time.

Was this part of Merlin's attempt to save Arthur's life, perhaps? Arthur wasn't conscious at the end; maybe Merlin did something insane, or tried something that didn't work the way it was supposed to. Arthur has no idea how magic works, and whom can he go to, to ask? Anything could have happened, and Arthur would have no way to tell what had gone wrong or how to fix it. As usual, no, he would be the one left dealing with the effects.

Noon comes, and so does Uther, whom Arthur had managed to avoid talking to all morning. Arthur had mourned his father, had let him go, had made his peace with never living up to the man's expectations and with daring to rule differently than he had, and now, here he is again, alive and in the flesh. And while there is a part of Arthur that is relieved and overwhelmed and grateful to have his father back, there is still a small voice inside that wishes it were otherwise.

What kind of man is he, that any part of him can wish his own father were still dead?

"Will you be attending the execution with me?" Uther asks, after they have exchanged greetings.

"Ah. No, Father. I am afraid I have training to prepare for."

"Of course. But don't forget the celebration begins tonight."

"I shan't."

"The Lady Helen of Mora is expected to arrive tomorrow. Such a voice."

"I look forward to hearing her."

Uther does not seem to notice anything amiss in his conversation with Arthur, although that may not mean much. Arthur has had time over the years both to come to terms with his father's blind spots, and to strive to avoid them himself.

It would seem he's failed where Merlin was concerned.

On his way back to his chambers, Arthur barely steps out of the way in time for Morgana to sweep past him in a high temper, followed closely by Guinevere. She spares him a glare, but does not speak. She's always hated the executions, has railed against Uther to no avail whatsoever.

Arthur is too busy processing the fact that his half-sister is also among the living to say anything. Alive, and apparently not mad, nor a sorceress.

Can Arthur prevent her from becoming one? When did she first take up magic? Is it something that a person can choose to set aside, like he's always thought?

Arthur spends enough time pondering these questions that he ends up witnessing the execution from his room anyway. Even through the closed window he can hear his father's voice, condemning the man to death, and in the very next breath announcing the celebration: twenty years of this madness, twenty years of slaughter born of grief and guilt, beginning only a few weeks after Arthur himself was born. Arthur looks out the window and sees what his younger self would have missed: these people fear their king.

And then he sees something else, and his breath catches; Merlin is standing in the village square among the crowd, a knapsack and bedroll on his back. He's only just arrived in Camelot, it seems, and like the others, he seems horrified by what he's just witnessed.

An old woman wails over the loss of her son to the headsman's axe, curses Uther, and vanishes in a sorcerous gale. Arthur barely even notices, still staring at his best friend. Merlin looks so very _young_ , so carefree. Arthur had thought _he_ looked less burdened in the mirror, but it had never occurred to him to consider that his friend would have suffered as much loss, been burdened with as much responsibility, as Arthur himself has. This Merlin looks to be no more than a boy compared to the man Arthur bade farewell to, only a few hours ago from his perspective.

That boy makes his way across the courtyard, and Arthur takes a moment to study him objectively. He's dressed as a peasant, of course, likely carrying all his worldly possessions on his back. The prince Arthur once was wouldn't have known this, but the king has learned from endless trade reports that blue and red dyes are expensive; Merlin's ridiculous neckerchief was almost certainly a gift, and one that he likely prizes. So while he's dressed as a peasant, he is a peasant wearing his finest clothes, likely in an effort to impress those he meets.

Of course he knows that Merlin ended up living with Gaius, but it's never occurred to him to wonder how or even if they knew each other beforehand. Had he come looking for work? That would explain the clothing; it wouldn't explain why he'd brought his magic to Camelot, of all places.

Arthur wants to find Merlin, grab him by the shoulders and make him explain what the hell is going on, but he's already running late for training and he does _not_ want to give his father cause to ask any questions that Arthur can't answer.

* * *

Training does not go as well as it should; Arthur is distracted, and fighting in a body that is not the one he died in. There are scars and limitations to his motion that Arthur had gotten used to, which he simply doesn't have in this body. He's younger, faster though not by much, and he keeps overbalancing or striking harder than he intended. It doesn't help that he is distracted, too.

None of this feels real. Arthur has still not had time to really accept that he's somehow ten years in his own past, but the changing muscle memory of his body is doing a good job of forcing the awareness to sink in.

* * *

Arthur goes the entire day without seeing Merlin even once. He wants to go to Gaius's chambers, but afternoon and then evening come, and then there is the first night of feasting to celebrate Uther's persecution of magic users. It's not something Arthur can talk his way out of, and he ends up sitting through a feast that seems never to end.

He's seated next to Morgana, who is pale and angry and refuses to eat more than a few bites of anything.

"Are you all right?" he tries, and she glares.

"I don't see chopping someone's head off as much of a reason to celebrate," she snaps. But Arthur notices that she keeps her voice down, and spares a smile for Uther, which he returns seemingly unaware of how patently false it is.

"As it happens, I agree with you," says Arthur, and Morgana blinks at him in surprise. "But you know it does no good to argue with Father."

"A lovely excuse not to argue with him at all, even when he is wrong," she says, and now the false smile is aimed at him.

"You know that's not what I mean."

"Do I?"

Arthur sighs, and reaches for his wine. Morgana always did make him want to tear his hair out, even when they were friends.

* * *

The next day is much like the first. Arthur goes to sleep and dreams of battle, and death, and Merlin's tears, and wakes in warmth and comfort in a body that has never known life-threatening injury. His servant reminds him that he has places to be and things to do, and he goes about his day, completely unable to find Merlin no matter where he looks. It is as if the gods themselves are conspiring to keep Arthur from Gaius's chambers.

Eventually, in frustration, he heads to the training grounds in half-armor, stopping by the armory to check out as many throwing knives as he can get his hands on. He dismisses the knights, and the servant—Thomas? Morris? Something like that—lugs the heavy knife target out of its niche along the wall. As he sets it up, Arthur tests the balance of the knives, tossing them absently from hand to hand and making them twirl; a few noblemen's sons notice, and come over to watch.

Arthur remembers these boys; they'd been the closest in age to Arthur himself back when he was prince, and the closest thing he'd had to friends, but he'd known even then that they were mostly just currying favor. They weren't skilled enough to become knights, though Arthur thinks one of them ended up in the palace guard. Too old to be squires, too young to manage their fathers' estates or council positions or whatnot, they came to training for something to do, but were otherwise wealthy and bored, and Arthur was good entertainment for them.

"You need to move the target," says Arthur to his servant. He's beyond irritated at this point, and it's unfortunately starting to show. "It's in the sun."

"It's not that bright," protests the servant.

"Bit like you, then," mutters Arthur, unable to keep his temper completely in check.

Someone behind him chuckles and says something about teaching the peasant a lesson. They can't know that Arthur would never actually allow a servant to come to harm in his service, and they certainly don't know the man that Arthur has become in the past ten years. But if Arthur dismisses them now, or even tries to reprimand them, it will be too out of character for the prince he used to be. Arthur can't risk being found out before he even knows what's going on.

He throws the first of his knives while the servant is still moving the target into position, and his sycophants laugh. Thomas, or Morris, or whatever his name is, startles and stares at him with wide eyes. Arthur throws another blade, dead into the center of the target, and it's the closest to normal he's felt since he woke up yesterday morning.

"Go on," he says; "keep moving." He flings another blade and the servant squeaks, to the delight of Arthur's hangers-on. Arthur himself smiles grimly and keeps throwing his blades, one after another, until Morris or Thomas drops the target and ducks behind it as it rolls.

It comes to rest at Merlin's feet.

 _Of course,_ thinks Arthur, as his heart leaps in his chest; _this is the day we met._

"Come on, that's enough," says Merlin. "You've had your fun, my friend."

Arthur's heart sinks. He'd been hoping that Merlin would find him eventually and explain what they were doing here, but this Merlin…

This Merlin doesn't recognize him.

Arthur has to be sure, though. "Do I know you?" he asks. He keeps his tone light for the benefit of his sycophants, but internally he's praying, _Please, please say yes._

"Uh, hi, I'm Merlin," says Merlin, holding out his hand.

"So I _don't_ know you," says Arthur, disappointed. How he keeps it from showing, he doesn't know. Maybe Merlin is a bit oblivious, too.

"No."

"Yet… you called me friend."

"That was my mistake," Merlin replies cheerfully.

"Yes, I think so," says Arthur, the words coming to him as if he'd rehearsed his part. Did he really remember their first meeting this clearly?

"Yeah," agrees Merlin. He leans in, ever so slightly. "I'd never have a friend who could be such an ass."

He turns to walk away, and Arthur can't bear it. He can't leave, not yet, not when Arthur has been trying to find him for the past two days. "Nor I one who could be so stupid," he tries, teasing; Merlin stops in his tracks, and Arthur remembers what happened next. "Tell me, _Merlin_ , do you know how to walk on your knees?"

"No."

"Would you like me to help you?"

"I wouldn't if I were you."

Arthur chuckles. He doesn't remember Merlin being quite this cocky. Or no, he does, Merlin was always a cheeky git toward Arthur, but in this moment, he's serious. He really thinks he can take Arthur on in a fight.

Of course, with his magic, he probably could. And now Arthur kind of wants to see that. "Why?" he taunts. "What are you gonna do to me?"

There's a spark of defiance in the back of Merlin's eyes that Arthur delights to see. "You have no idea," he says.

"Be my guest," says Arthur. "Come on. Come on! Come oonnnn…" He knows exactly how to needle Merlin to get a reaction, and this Merlin, this younger, unburdened Merlin, apparently has a chip on his shoulder and a willingness to prove himself the bigger dog in a tussle.

Also, he clearly has no idea who Arthur is, because Arthur's best friend would never have tried to strike him, not in earnest, and certainly not with an audience.

This Merlin, however…

Well, he's probably pretty good in a bar brawl, or whatever trouble peasants get into.

Actually, no, he's still abysmal. Arthur will have to train some of that out of him as soon as possible, just so Merlin doesn't go and get himself killed.

The sycophants behind him might be reluctantly impressed when Merlin takes a swing, but are likely just kissing up to Arthur when he immobilizes Merlin without any effort whatsoever.

"I'll have you thrown in jail for that," says Arthur. Partly he has to, it's the law. Partly he's hoping the, the dollophead will _stay put_ long enough for Arthur to come and talk to him.

"What, who do you think you are? The king?"

There is far too much warmth and fondness in Arthur's voice when he says, "No. I'm his son. _Arthur_."

To cover for it, he drops Merlin's legs out from under him, and does make him walk on his knees, but only far enough to be picked up by the palace guard standing a few paces away, and hauled off to the dungeons.

It's later in the afternoon when Arthur looks out his chamber window and sees Merlin being led off to the stocks, Gaius following right behind him and looking entirely too pleased with himself.

* * *

Arthur sees him again in the marketplace, and if it weren't for the sycophants following him around he'd go up and introduce himself properly, but he's being watched and has a reputation to uphold.

It's not as if Merlin's cheek doesn't delight him anyway. "How long have you been training to be a prat, _my lord,_ " indeed. It's only been a couple of days, from Arthur's viewpoint, since he and Merlin were on their way to Avalon to try and heal Arthur of a fatal wound. He shouldn't miss Merlin quite as much as he does, but there it is.

He has his best friend's admission that he'd cheated during this fight in the marketplace, so Arthur watches for it, and is a little amazed at Merlin's subtlety: there are no grand gestures or chanted spells, but Arthur's flail gets tangled, obstacles suddenly appear to trip him up, and he generally makes a fool of himself as Merlin's grin gets wider. If he weren't having the time of his life and fighting the urge to laugh like a loon, Arthur is sure he'd still be just as furious now as he'd been the first time.

But of course this Merlin is cocky, and Arthur currently has ten years' experience on him in addition to the fighting skill, so it's not long before Arthur is able to knock him on his arse with a few blows from a broom. He'd done that last time, too, but this time he's more careful not to really hurt Merlin if he can help it. He'll probably still carry a few bruises, but Arthur's own instructors had always told him that pain was the best teacher, and Merlin does need to learn that it isn't safe to rely on only his magic in a fight.

Before, it was the city guard who hauled Merlin to his feet; this time, Arthur holds out a hand and waits for Merlin to take it. It's taking a bit of trust on Arthur's part; this Merlin doesn't have any reason not to use his magic against Arthur, whom he sees as a bully and a prat and probably all those other insults he's fond of using.

"You're an idiot, but you're brave, I'll give you that," says Arthur, while Merlin glares at him warily. He leans in and explains it, because he can't resist. "Most people are smart enough to _run_ when they see me coming with a weapon in hand."

"Most people aren't me," says Merlin defiantly.

"You know that doesn't even make any sense," Arthur can't help laughing. He dusts off Merlin's shoulders, then roughly spins him around and takes care of his back. "You've got straw in your hair."

He glances up, and his face falls when he sees his followers staring at him, and he realizes he's let their tussle go to his head; forgotten that Arthur and Merlin aren't friends yet in this world Arthur has fallen into. Merlin himself is staring at him in affrontery and bewilderment, like a startled cat who can't decide how offended he should be just yet.

 _God,_ he's missed this. The burdens of kingship have done Arthur no favors, where carefree fun is concerned.

But he can't have it yet. Merlin doesn't know Arthur at all, yet. Isn't even part of the royal household yet, which means, now that Artur thinks about it, that Merlin hasn't saved his life for the first time yet.

He steps back from Merlin, then looks him up and down appraisingly. "Go on, then," he says, not unkindly. "I'm sure we both have better places to be."

"I still think you're a prat," Merlin says, all sullen and defiant.

"You're probably right," Arthur replies, to Merlin's obvious surprise, "but it won't do you much good to say so publicly unless you want another visit to the stocks."

Merlin is about to protest when Gaius comes up, all apologetic and carrying Merlin's jacket, obviously hoping to keep Arthur from losing his temper at the insolent peasant boy again. Arthur waves him off. "It's fine, Gaius. No harm done."

And now Gaius is looking at him strangely too, but there's nothing for it. Arthur doesn't want to be caught as an outsider in his own world, but he's not going to waste this gift he's been given, if in fact it is a gift, by behaving exactly like he used to, either.

"If you're certain, sire…"

"I am." He looks Merlin up and down, remembering what he'd said the first time. "There's something about you, Merlin…" He turns to Gaius then, and adds, "If he's your charge, I wish you luck keeping him out of trouble."

"Thank you, sire." Gaius elbows Merlin, neither discreetly nor gently; Merlin winces before sketching the little half-bow that is all Arthur has ever seen him give to anyone of high rank. Arthur isn't sure if he's ever bothered to learn proper court etiquette, or if he just thinks such trappings are foolish.

Arthur watches them go, while his hangers-on come up and jostle him, laughing about Arthur having "taught the fool his place".

They have no idea, none at all, just where Merlin's place truly is.

* * *

Arthur knows, he _knows,_ that there will be an attempt on his life tonight, and that Merlin will stop it. Or at least, he hopes Merlin will; things are already changed, ever so slightly, from the last time they'd met. What if Merlin isn't present at the banquet?

But then Lady Helen begins to sing, and Arthur feels himself growing drowsy, and is unable to do anything to stop it.

He wakes up covered in disgusting cobwebs, and has a moment of horror wherein he wonders if he's slept the past ten years away and wasted what he was given, but then he sees the chandelier, crashed to the floor and cracking a couple of flagstones, and nearly crushing the body of an old woman wearing Lady Helen's gown. The rest of the court is just as stunned as he is, and no one lifts a finger when she shrieks and flings a dagger straight at Arthur's eye.

He sees it approaching, and the moment of his death _elongates_ , everything moving as though swimming in honey, slow and sweet and burning in his throat. He _feels_ his eyes widen, as if to accommodate the blade that is about to bury itself in one of them…

…and then he is on the floor with no idea how he got there, and Merlin's arms around him, and his heart speeds up along with everything else around them. The dagger quivers in the back of Arthur's chair at the high table, as the old woman collapses and doesn't move again.

Was that magic? Did Merlin move that quickly on his own, or did he do something to take Arthur out of the path of harm? Arthur turns to stare at him, and Merlin is staring back, seemingly just as shocked as Arthur feels (even though Arthur _knew_ this was going to happen).

Arthur has the suspicion that he is going to be reevaluating a great many things that happen to him or around him, if Merlin is in any way present.

Uther is helping Arthur to his feet, and saying something about saving his son's life, and Arthur can't remember the last time he saw his father look so astonished and _pleased_ about anything. Merlin is trying to be modest—or no, Arthur realizes, Merlin is trying to avoid calling attention to himself, trying very hard to get out from under Uther's scrutiny—but it's too late for that. The king has named Merlin part of the royal household, Arthur's manservant, and Merlin clearly has no idea what an honor that's supposed to be. He looks horrified, likely for multiple reasons; dealing with Arthur is probably only the surface of it, when Merlin has magic and has just been invited into the very belly of the beast. A single misstep could see him killed from here on out, Arthur realizes. No wonder he'd never told Arthur until the end.

He remembers that he himself had been appalled the first time he'd lived through this moment. Well, he's not appalled now. He leans in close, lowering his voice. "I know you think I'm an _incredible_ ass," he says, not bothering to hide his glee, "but just think: you'll be able to tell me so on a daily basis for the rest of your life!"

Merlin no longer looks horrified. He looks ready to strangle Arthur, yes, but not horrified. Arthur's smile widens. Success. He doesn't like the idea of Merlin ever being afraid.

Arthur still has no idea why he's here, reliving his past; he's not sure whether or not there's something he's supposed to accomplish, nor what the something is supposed to be (although there are several things he wants very much to try and do differently this time). But he has Merlin at his side now, and together, he's sure the two of them can handle anything.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur does things differently this time, but he's not able to change everything as it happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hadn't planned to continue this story, but I've had so many requests for it, and then inspiration struck, and I wasn't in the mood to work on my _other_ fic, so here we are. I hope you enjoy. And yes, there will be at least one more chapter after this, though I don't know how many.

He does things differently this time, but he's not able to change everything as it happens.

When Valiant comes to the tourney, Arthur remembers the snakes in the shield, but is in no position to do anything about them. Merlin comes to him with his suspicions that the shield is enchanted, and Arthur believes him. He can see the respect grow in Merlin's eyes, right up until he says, "But my father will not take the word of a servant over the word of a knight. I'm sorry."

"But you believe me!"

"I do, I promise you. You… you seem an honest sort," he says, and swallows back the bitter taste of irony, knowing that Merlin is hiding his own secrets. On the other hand, he sees the flicker of unease on Merlin's own face, so perhaps he's planted a seed there and Merlin might tell him of his magic sooner. "But my father will need proof," he says instead. "Do we have anything that we can _show_ him that would implicate Valiant?"

"Gaius said that Sir Ewan was showing all the signs of snakebite poisoning… perhaps if we can find a bite mark?"

So Arthur goes to speak to the wounded knight, Merlin following eagerly behind, but when they get there he is already dead. _Damn_ , he thinks, and resists the urge to throw something just to hear it shatter. A man killed by sorcery, someone Arthur had hoped to save in this second chance he'd been given.

There are still plenty of nights that he lies awake wondering whether waking up ten years in his own past is meant to be a blessing or a curse.

Luckily, the snakes on Valiant's shield come to life outside of the other man's control, there on the tourney field the next day, and Arthur derives a deep and personal satisfaction out of killing him in front of his father. The only difference is that this time he did not seek naively to accuse Valiant in front of Uther, and was not publicly humiliated with the accusation of being too afraid to face him in honorable combat.

That night at dinner he tells Uther, "Sir Ewan died of snakebite poisoning, not a blow to the head as we'd first suspected."

"You have proof of this?" says the king with a frown.

"Gaius found a fresh bite mark on the side of his neck, and heard the man's own testimony, but by the time he was prepared to tell you of it, Ewan had succumbed to the poison. While preparing him for the pyre, he discovered several more bite marks, all of which were still seeping. Gaius believes that Valiant had his snakes finish Ewan off before he could testify against him."

"Despicable," says Uther. "But we can expect no better from sorcerers. You did well to execute him on the tourney field today."

That's not quite the angle Arthur was aiming for, but he'll take the opening. "My manservant—the one who saved my life from the false Lady Helen?"

"Yes, I remember."

"He came to me with suspicions about Valiant even before Ewan awoke."

"Don't tell me you took the word of a servant…"

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "Was I wrong to do so? Apparently he was working in the armory when he heard the snakes hiss, and later on saw Valiant feeding them live mice."

Uther is silent for a long moment, and Arthur thinks carefully before deciding to press. Gently, gently. "He saved my life once already," he says. "In warning me about Valiant, he may well have saved it again. I'm inclined to listen to him when he speaks."

"He is a servant," says Uther. "Take care the you do not bring him too far into your confidence. All men have ambition, and to have the ear of a member of the royal family is power that cannot be trusted to a mere commoner. Even so, I'll grant you, his loyalty is commendable."

In a few weeks' time, Merlin will try to drink poison for him. Arthur hopes he's planted enough of a seed this time that Uther will not throw his son in the dungeons when he goes to find that damned flower.

* * *

 

Of course, it would be easier if he could go to the Caves of Balor and get the antidote to that poison now, but barely two days after the tournament, a plague begins to sweep the lower town.

"Could it be something in the water?" he asks Gaius. "Some form of contamination?"

Gaius frowns at him, and Arthur fears he may be acting too strangely, making the older man suspicious. He knows he's already a different person from what he'd been the first time he'd lived these events, but he'll be damned if he simply allows events to play out the same way as they did then. After a moment, Gaius's expression clears to something more thoughtful, and he turns to his books and pulls one from the shelf.

"You've given me an idea, sire, and with your leave I'd like some time to pursue it."

"Of course. Let me know what you find."

He's not at all certain that the physician will tell him anything, still likely believing that Arthur is too mistrustful of magic. If Gaius knows enough to suspect sorcerous origins, what is to stop him from being accused as a sorcerer himself? So Arthur can't blame Gaius for keeping silent, even if it makes his job that much harder.

Certainly Uther had heard Gaius's words and immediately demanded a search of the city to find the sorcerer who must have caused this. It's madness; Arthur can't help but think that whoever did such a thing would be long gone by now rather than risking being caught up in the contagion themselves. Even more mad is the notion that he must search Gaius's chambers, of all people's, in an effort to root out the villain.

He wonder if he'll spot anything incriminating in Merlin's little room, but doesn't. Whether that's because he allows himself to be a bit lax in his search for Merlin's sake, or because Merlin truly has nothing to hide, he's not sure.

In the meantime, there is Merlin himself to deal with. Merlin, who doesn't recognize him, who apparently did not come back in time alongside Arthur, and who is beginning to become Arthur's friend but still does not know him well enough to trust him with his own secrets. How soon is too soon for Arthur to tell Merlin that he already knows about the magic?

Tom the Smith takes ill, and mysteriously recovers; Arthur remembers searching his home and finding something magical underneath his pillow. Instead of letting a guard find the glowing packet, he brings it himself to Gaius, secretly, after night has fallen. He'll not have Gwen accused of sorcery, thrown to the floor in front of his father, terrified and completely innocent, unaware of what has happened.

"It appears to be an enchanted poultice, sire," says Gaius. "With the correct spells in place, one could use this to pull an illness out of a sick person, especially a magical illness such as the one we're facing now. Where did you find it?"

"In the home of Gwen's father," says Arthur, and just like that, he knows exactly how it got there. He doesn't even need to see the glare Gaius levels at Merlin when he thinks Arthur isn't looking.

Idiot. Kindhearted, naive idiot. If he doesn't get himself killed, it'll be Gwen who dies. Last time it nearly was Gwen, until Merlin came storming into the council chambers himself and confessed. Only Arthur's quick thinking then had saved Merlin's own life.

"Is there a way to trace the magic on such an object?" Arthur asks. "Find out who created it?"

"I'm afraid not, sire," says Gaius, "or at least none that I've ever heard of." He could be lying to protect Merlin, or he cold be telling the truth.

Arthur can't really tell, but it doesn't matter. He meets the older man's eyes and says, "Good." He doesn't miss the fleeting look of shock on the old physician's face. He takes a deep breath, deciding it's time to plant another seed. "I don't share my father's irrational hatred of all things magical, and it is clear that someone in Camelot is trying to save lives, not end them. But if I hadn't been the one to find this, if it had been one of the guards instead, you know I would have had no choice but to make an arrest. It's likely either Tom or Gwen would be in the dungeons by now, awaiting execution on the morrow." Tom's is another death he'd like to prevent, if he can only figure out how to do it.

Behind him, he hears Merlin's harsh intake of breath, and hopes that the bloody fool has gotten the message.

"Yes, of course, sire," says Gaius. Arthur gets the feeling he's treading a thin line between his loyalty to Uther, his loyalty to Arthur, and possibly his loyalty to Merlin himself. "If I may say so, it can be a difficult thing to choose between one's duty and what is right."

Arthur quiets at that. "I have grown up believing them to be the same thing," he says. "Until recently."

* * *

 

Defeating the creature turns out to be easy; Gaius comes to him this time, tentatively and full of caution, clearly still feeling out Arthur's newly discovered sympathies, and tells him that it can be killed with simple fire. Arthur wishes he'd had this information last time, and wonders how much more effective he could be, as a prince, as a king, if only he were told everything he had a right to know.

Uther kept secrets about Arthur's own mother; Gaius keeps secrets for the king and for Merlin; Merlin hedges and lies and protects himself.

Merlin follows him into the reservoir, not as stealthy as he'd like to think he is, and Arthur strongly suspects that Gaius hasn't told Arthur everything. Given the sudden gust of wind that flares his torch into a gigantic gout of flame, he must have needed more than mere fire to defeat the afanc. Still, the two of them together are more than a match for the beast, and it crumbles to dust there on the floor of the tunnel.

"And what are you doing here?" he says, turning to face Merlin.

"If anything happened, I wanted to be able to run and get help," says his servant.

"Don't be ridiculous, _Merlin_ , I had everything under control."

"Well, yeah, 'course you did," says Merlin, "but if you hadn't. You know. Just in case."

Arthur just shakes his head, knowing there was more to Merlin's motives than that, but unsure how to bring it up. He's beginning to understand how and why Merlin kept his secret for so long the last time.

* * *

 

And then Merlin drinks poison for him.

Bayard of Mercia had come to Camelot with his entire entourage, but no army; what idiot would risk a war without reinforcements at his back? Perhaps Uther believed that Bayard consorted with sorcerers and didn't need an army, or perhaps his hatred of magic drove all reason from him. Arthur has to shake his head at this newfound awareness of the true depth of his father's madness, for madness, he begins to suspect, is exactly what it is. How else to explain the lengths he will go to in his hypocrisy, to cover his own guilt?

But once again, Arthur is unable to stop the event from happening. He knows Bayard will give a longwinded speech before the feast begins, knows his own cup is poisoned, but has no way to tell anyone about it without coming under suspicion himself. He can only watch as Merlin comes storming in, in his livery, fearless in the face of Uther's wrath… slightly less fearless but braver than any knight as he faces Arthur and downs the contents of his goblet, all in one go.

He's certain he fails to keep the distress off his face, which in court can be a deadly misstep, but he'll deal with those consequences later.

The best he can do is insist to Uther, after swords are drawn, that Bayard has little motive for such a thing.

"It makes more sense that a, that a _third party_ wishes to bring us to war with each other," he says, and watches as both kings frown. "Look. Supposing I drink the poison. Camelot goes to war with Mercia. Supposing I am suspicious or paranoid for whatever reason, and demand that we switch goblets. Bayard, would you have drunk from my goblet?"

"I would have," he says, "because I have no knowledge of how this poison came to be in your drink in the first place."

"Then Mercia goes to war with Camelot, over the death of their king. Either way, there is war, a war _neither_ kingdom wants, clearly, since we have spent months in negotiations hammering out this alliance between us. Father, why throw all that away and go to war now? What could possibly be Bayard's motive?"

"I have none," says Bayard. "I came here in good faith. Nor do I understand why Uther would risk his own son in an effort to falsely accuse me—"

"You dare suggest I would do such a thing to my son!"

"It makes as little sense, Uther, as my poisoning him on the eve of a celebration of our alliance."

"Spies and sorcerers have conspired to harm Camelot before now," says Arthur. "In all the chaos of our two kingdoms meeting for the first time, would it not be easy to slip in, disguised as a member of either household, and slip the poison into the goblet? Either goblet would do."

"Your servant insisted that Bayard knew about this," says Uther, but he seems doubtful.

"And if I were a spy, telling Merlin would be the perfect way to plant an accusation against Bayard without incriminating myself." Both kings stop at this, thoughtful expressions on their faces, and Arthur nods, satisfied. "I will leave Your Majesties to sort out what must have happened. In the meantime, I plan to reward my servant for his valor."

"How, precisely?" asks Uther.

"By saving his life as he has just saved mine." _Again_ , Arthur thinks.

Perhaps it is because they are having this conversation in front of another king, but to Arthur's astonishment, after a moment Uther nods. "You may try."

On his way out, he sees Morgana looking at him with a sort of astonished approval. He'd forgotten what it was like to have her happy with him.

* * *

 

Arthur is on his horse and headed to the Caves of Balor before the king can change his mind, barely taking the time to go to Gaius's chambers and confirm that he poison is the same one that was used last time.

The cockatrice is not exactly an easy kill, but it's not the worst creature he's ever faced.

The woman seems to be waiting for him. He ignores her offer to guide him to the caves, though he tries to be polite since he knows her to be a sorceress. "Thank you," he says, "but I know the way well. I wish you luck on your journey."

Of course the woman isn't to be thwarted. She says something in the language of magic, and vines and roots burst from the ground and envelop him, knocking him flat onto his back and pinning him to the earth.

"Why are you doing this?" he demands, but she only walks away, saying, again, that his destiny is not to die at her hand.

"And you think leaving me here to die beneath your enchantment doesn't count, witch?"

She pauses. "It doesn't."

"I'm trying to save the life of one of your kind!" he calls out, and she spins to glare at him.

" _I know_."

Arthur realizes then that the poison was never meant for him. War between Mercia and Camelot is just a bonus.

* * *

 

After several long minutes of struggle, he is able to reach his dagger and pull it, using only his fingers since his arm won't move, and begin sawing away at the roots that bind him. Dark is coming soon, and he has a feeling the spiders in the cave will come out to hunt for prey before too much longer, and here is Arthur, easy pickings. Of course, armed with only his dagger, it will take hours or even days before he is able to whittle his way through the thickest of the vines and other wood surrounding him, but Merlin's life hangs in the balance and Arthur is not a man accustomed to giving up.

He is perhaps more surprised than he should be when a globe of blue light appears over his head. A spirit that inhabits the area? He doesn't know, but perhaps he'll ask Gaius about it later.

"Haven't seen you in a while," he says to it, and it drifts lower, until it brushes along the vines across his chest. They part like grass, and Arthur almost thinks he hears a whispering voice, or feels a ghostlike touch across his skin as he sits up. The light floats back, just out of his reach, parting the roots that cover his legs, and Arthur stands. "Thanks."

Without staying to see if the light disappears, he searches for his horse and pulls out the torch he'll need in the caves, then goes hunting for his flint and steel to light it. The globe reappears over his shoulder as he's jogging into the cave.

"I've done this before, you know," says Arthur. "But I suppose you probably wouldn't remember." He holds his torch up high and sees the flower, growing innocently in its crevice just on the other side of the dropoff. Fortunately, the woman isn't there this time to make the ledge crumble beneath his feet, so he is able to make the climb much more easily than the first time he did this. He sets the torch into a niche near the floor so it won't go out, but the blue light hovers just over Arthur's head, tantalizingly out of reach the entire time, and he feels even safer with it there.

The flower is in his pouch and he is halfway up the wall before the light suddenly flares and he sees the first spiders climbing up after him. "Right," he grunts, "time to go." Arthur draws his sword just in case, and makes the climb one-handed, the light guiding him every inch of the way.

* * *

 

Since Uther has not thrown him in the dungeon this time, Arthur stays to watch Gaius and Gwen prepare the antidote to Merlin's poison. Gwen is a competent nurse, it appears, and Gaius keeps her busy with one task after another. He also, not surprisingly now that Arthur thinks about it, does everything in his power to distract Arthur, and finally Arthur realizes that Gaius needs to use magic himself in order to save Merlin. He decides that Merlin needs another blanket, and steps into the other room for a few minutes. He listens as Gaius whispers something unintelligible, but refuses to look. If Gaius is using the sorcery he claimed to have renounced, Arthur wants to be able to tell his father that he never saw a thing.

Besides, he's using it to save lives, just as the enchanted poultice under Tom's pillow was used. How can Arthur fault that? He's been craving proof that magic can be used for more than evil and destruction, and here is that proof, right under his nose.

Arthur returns to the main room in time to see Gaius trickling a foul-looking concoction into Merlin's mouth. Merlin himself looks terrible. The first time that Arthur lived this, he'd not seen his friend until Merlin was on the road to recovery, so he'd never really realized just how seriously ill Merlin had become.

"Now what?" he asks. There must be something left that he can do.

"I'm afraid that now it is up to Merlin, sire. We can only wait, and pray that the antidote was delivered in time."

"You said he had several days before he would die."

Gaius sighs. "That was before I saw how quickly the poison was advancing. I fear that someone may have magically enhanced it to work more quickly."

"There was a woman waiting for me, outside the Caves of Balor," says Arthur. "A sorceress."

"That is a very serious accusation to make, sire. Are you sure?"

"She conjured roots and vines to bind me and prevent me from continuing my quest."

Gaius looks very grave for a moment, before saying slowly, "She must have wanted war between the two kingdoms very badly."

Arthur frowns, certain now that Gaius is lying. He'd suspected that Gaius knew of Merlin's magic, but now he is certain of that, too.

Is this the right time to bring up Merlin's magic?

There is a sigh from the bed, and Arthur turns to see that Merlin has gone utterly still. His eyes go wide as Gaius puts a hand to Merlin's neck, feeling for a pulse, and then sits back heavily, a stricken expression on his face. "His heart has stopped."

"What?" No. No. Arthur isn't even sure whether it was he or Gwen who spoke. Merlin can't be dead. Arthur needs him here. He can't—

Gwen turns to Gaius and begins to weep in his arms, and Arthur turns away, eyes wide, hands clasping his hair. He'd made it back in time. Uther hadn't imprisoned him, he'd gotten through the Caves quickly enough… what went wrong? How could—

"That's disgusting," comes the weak voice from behind him, and Arthur whirls to see Merlin alive and—all right, not alive and _well,_ but _alive_ —smiling up at Gwen and Gaius. "You're old enough to be her grandfather."

Arthur is as surprised as Merlin when Gwen leans down and plants a forceful kiss on him. Even so, the relief that his best friend—all right, maybe Merlin isn't there yet, but Arthur certainly is—is alive is almost enough to make Arthur's knees buckle.

"I… need to report to my father," he says, before his emotions can get the better of him.


	3. Chapter 3

He checks on Merlin every day of his recovery, ignoring the strange looks he gets from both Merlin and Gaius. Uther has told him about Nimueh, a little; a sorceress with a grudge against Uther. _Aren't they all,_ Arthur thinks.

"There was something in the forest," Arthur tells Gaius later. Merlin is sitting nearby, scrubbing at a piece of Arthur's armor since he's not yet strong enough to follow Arthur to the armory or the practice grounds. "A… a light. Bluish, about so big." He holds his hands up in the rough shape of the globe. "It was obviously not natural, but it felt… safe. Like I was being watched over, protected."

Gaius is a canny old man, but Arthur is watching closely and sees the way his expression changes, just for the barest instant. He knows something, Arthur is certain. "There are some forms of magic that can cause a person to feel a false sense of safety and security," he warns; "enchantments that lure a man to his doom. It could be that Nimueh—"

"No." Arthur shakes his head. "I thought so at first," and he had, the first time he'd lived this moment, "but this light guided me, right toward the place where the flower grew, and it alerted me when the giant spiders that dwell in the cavern awoke and started to attack. It led me to a safe path out of the cave, and then disappeared."

He absolutely does not miss it when Gaius glances over at Merlin, but either Merlin is a better actor than Arthur has ever given him credit for—which is possible, considering—or else he truly knows nothing about the cause or source of the light.

"Very strange, sire," says Gaius. "I shall look into it if you would like, but I'm afraid I've never heard of anything quite like it. I may not find anything."

Of course he won't, Arthur thinks. He couldn't find anything without possibly incriminating Merlin. "Of course. But it's still refreshing," he says, careful not to look at Merlin. "Between this and that magical poultice… to know that benevolent magic really does exist, despite my father's claims. It complicates matters, of course, given Camelot's laws, but it's still good to know that not every sorcerer and supernatural creature out there is actively trying to kill me."

"Indeed, sire."

* * *

 

Lancelot comes to town, and Arthur almost forgets himself and greets the man like an old friend. He's responsible for saving Merlin's life, to hear Merlin tell it. Arthur's servant is still on light duties and was out picking mushrooms for Gaius when the griffin attacked.

He has no idea where Lancelot got a forged seal of nobility, although he certainly suspects when he sees Gwen and Merlin both cheering him on from the sidelines. Is that something else that magic can do? Arthur isn't really sure. But it's not like the Lancelot Arthur knew to lie, either, and Arthur can only think that he was talked into it by a certain someone. Still, fighting him is a joy that Arthur is not willing to pass up, even when Lancelot defeats him on the field. He's damned good, and Arthur appreciates a challenge. Far too many noble sons come to Camelot expecting a knighthood to be handed to them because of their parentage, and Arthur takes a certain, possibly smug, satisfaction from disabusing them of the notion whenever he can.

Still. He's not going to risk Lancelot being arrested when his lie is discovered.

"Walk with me, Lancelot," he says, and watches as both Gwen's and Merlin's expressions change from one of delight to one of worry.

"Of course, sire."

Merlin and Gwen do a terrible job of discreetly following them.

"Eldred of Northumbria only has four sons," he says, getting straight to the point. Lancelot's face falls as well, and he knows the man well enough to know he won't bother to defend himself.

Merlin, however… "But he's good, Arthur. You saw him. You _fought_ him."

"I did, but Merlin—"

"Then you know that your father's rules—"

"That's enough!" Bad enough that the idiot likes to stand up to Arthur at every opportunity, worse to do it in public. But he's setting himself up for banishment if he ever defies Uther so openly. "My father is _king_ , a notion you have yet to get through your thick head. _Fair_ or not, his word is law. Do you understand?"

"But it _isn't_ fair," Merlin mutters, and Arthur sighs.

"No. It isn't. We're in agreement there. If I were to allow Lancelot's deception to pass, yes, he would become a knight." He looks to the other man. "You're good; in point of fact, you're better than half of the men I have already."

"Thank you, sire."

"And if your deception were ever discovered, my father would have your title stripped, throw you in the dungeons, and if he _didn't_ have you executed, he'd have you publicly whipped until you could barely walk, and then banished from Camelot with nothing but the clothes you were wearing."

Merlin looks shocked, and angry. Lancelot looks crushed; no doubt he's dreamed of becoming a knight for a long time, and has come to idealize Uther's Camelot a bit more than it might deserve.

"I'm trying to spare you that fate," Arthur says gently. "And I can promise you, someday, when I am king, it will be different. I'd be happy to have you serve under my crown. But I cannot _safely_ admit you to the knighthood yet, and from what I judge of your character, Lancelot, you'd prefer to be here under your own merit rather than under a lie, anyway."

Lancelot looks at Arthur like he's a far greater man than he knows himself to be. "You're right, sire. I would."

"Then… bide your time, perhaps. Would you consider a posting with the palace guard? Nobility is not a requirement to join their ranks, and you would be close by. Able to train as much as you wanted, if you were aiming for a captaincy. Or perhaps ply your trade as a knight errant," he suggests, remembering that Lancelot had brought Percival with him when he'd returned to face Morgana. "Roam the countryside, aiding those who need it but who fear to approach the crown with their requests."

"I… I think I might like that, sire. Thank you for the suggestion."

"You'll need to be outfitted, of course. While the king would not agree to it, I think I can afford to cover your initial expenses from my own accounts."

"You'd do that?" It's Merlin who asks, but it looks like he is speaking Lancelot's own words for him.

"Contrary to what you may think, Merlin, I'm not a complete ogre."

"I don't think you're an ogre," insists his servant. "A prat sometimes, but not an ogre."

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "Thank you for the vote of confidence," he says, and Merlin grins.

As they part ways, Arthur can't help but notice the way that Lancelot and Guinevere look at one another; the way she runs to him, the way he kisses her hand. It would seem that his wife's infatuation with Lancelot—not yet his wife, he reminds himself—began earlier than Arthur had ever suspected before.

Well. He's never been one to demand a woman's heart when it has been given to another. Truth be told, his father has generally been so busy parading him about like a prize stallion that he had had little interest in pursuing a woman's heart, until Guinevere. The daughters of noblemen had been all too interested in pursuing his… assets and title, mainly. Besides, none of that matters right now. Right now, Guinevere is a servant and doesn't know him. Right now, Lancelot is a commoner who may or may not leave town. If he stays, Arthur suspects that he will have competition for Gwen's hand… or possibly, that Lancelot will have no competition at all.

* * *

 

The griffin attacks. Lancelot tries to join them in the fight in the courtyard, and Uther nearly throws him in the dungeon anyway. Lancelot wisely decides that he will become a wandering hero, possibly even a mercenary, somewhere away from Uther's wrath.

Arthur is unable to be seen bidding the man farewell, but a fine horse makes its way to Tom's smithy, laden with enough gold to see Lancelot kitted in a custom set of plate-and-mail and a spare sword.

Uther will not hear any of Gaius's advice about how to defeat the creature, and Arthur knows that he and his men are doomed to fail. He only hopes he will have injuries to deal with afterward, and not disemboweled corpses.

That night, he and his men ride out. As expected, as Lancelot had warned them, their weapons have no effect whatsoever on the beast. In the dark, Arthur doesn't see the blow coming until it's too late, and he is knocked unconscious, only coming to some time later to see Lancelot crouched over him, his face the picture of concern.

"The beast?"

"Dead, sire."

"You killed it?" Of course, Lancelot had done so the last time Arthur had lived this moment as well, but how had he done it?

The other man seems to read the unspoken question from his expression. "A lucky shot, perhaps. I've… read tales of beasts that could only be killed with an exact blow to a specific location on their bodies."

Arthur narrows his eyes, then stops when that makes his headache worse. The story seems plausible, but he can't help but wonder if Lancelot had a little extra help. Perhaps some sorcerous aid from a certain manservant. "Well done," he says, and means it. "The thing never killed any livestock, according to the reports we received. People, though… you've saved many lives tonight."

"Thank you, sire." He pulls Arthur to his feet, and steadies him when Arthur puts a gloved hand to his aching head. "For everything."

Arthur nods. "Best be on your way before the rest of my men wake up."

"Of course."

He watches for a bit, and in the darkness he thinks he sees a shadow detach itself from one of the trees and follow Lancelot back to the city. It's hard to be certain, though, and he has his men to see to, so he lets it go.

* * *

 

Morgana gets sick.

Morgana gets sick, and nearly dies, and it's all Arthur can do not to strangle the man who comes claiming to be able to cure her. He remembers all too well that the man was later found killed after trying to work his magic on Uther. Gaius was able to cure his father, but not his sister; it took Edwin to do that.

What should Arthur do? How should he let this play out? He doesn't sleep the entire time that Morgana worsens, tearing his hair out trying to decide.

Finally he goes to Gaius.

"I don't trust this man," he says plainly. "His timing is suspicious, and you are the best physician I've ever known."

"While I thank you for the compliment, sire, I am also the only physician you've ever known. And a wise physician does not hesitate to seek out other opinions when his own skills prove… inadequate."

"I have every faith that you will solve this crisis," says Arthur. "Only… be wary." And that is all he can say without explaining what he _knows_ to be true, and how he knows it.

"Of course, sire. Thank you for your faith."

It isn't faith, but Arthur has no way to convey that.

* * *

 

Where Gaius goes, so does Merlin, and Arthur begins to suspect that his servant's magic is what really saves the day. Arthur wasn't really involved in the affair, the first time he lived this, and it's difficult to say how he might ruin things if he interferes now. His warning to Gaius is all he thinks is safe for him to offer, for the time being; if he trusts Merlin—and he does—perhaps the best thing Arthur can do is stay out of it and do nothing.

There is one thing he can do, however, and that is show more care toward Morgana. Arthur has no idea when she first adopted magic, but he understands all too well the betrayal and rage she felt toward Uther. How could he not? He learned from Morgause the truth of his mother's death, and it was only Merlin talking down his rage that kept him from committing patricide and regicide. Merlin told him that Morgause lied; it is more likely, looking back on things in the dead of night, that Morgause manipulated him with the truth, hoping for exactly the outcome that Merlin prevented.

If so, it could mean that Merlin knew or suspected the truth and lied to Arthur once again… but it would also mean that Merlin was trying to protect Arthur from doing something he would later regret.

He sets the thought aside as irrelevant. The point is, Morgana felt betrayed by her own family, and there is a part of Arthur that cannot blame her, and never has been able to. A part of him only wants his sister back, and now he has her and a chance to keep her besides.

"Magic made you ill," he says to her, the night after Edwin has been defeated and Gaius made a freeman, and watches as she frowns. "But magic also made you well again," he adds before she can speak. "I'm not sure what that means."

"It means that Uther's black-and-white worldview is not so perfect as he likes to pretend," says Morgana.

"I know." Morgana gives him a _look_ , and he's forced to say, "Stop acting so surprised. I do know how to think for myself, you know."

"Yes, I suppose you do," she says thoughtfully, studying Arthur in a way that makes him want to squirm like a guilty child. He knows he's hiding ten years' worth of experience in this younger, living body, but she can't possibly have discovered that.

"In any case, I am glad you're all right. I know we bicker and snipe at each other, but… Morgana, I don't say it enough. I care for you as a sister, and I would be lost if anything were to happen to you."

She looks at him in astonishment, and while on the one hand he's decided he quite likes putting that look on her face, on the other he's also decided that he's had enough of vulnerability for one night, so he bids her a pleasant rest and takes his leave.

* * *

 

Not long after that, Morgana warns Arthur of danger, of a girl who will murder him, and he takes the time to thank her and mean it, rather than dismissing her words as ravings.

"I swear I will be careful," he says to her, and she looks unsatisfied, as if he hasn't given her enough. "We'll talk after I've returned."

 Her dreams; of course it was her dreams that were Morgana's first foray into magic. She'd never chosen it, and Arthur was a fool to think that she had. How terrified she must have been, how alone she must have felt, to have magic in Uther's Camelot, under his very nose.

Arthur makes a vow to himself that she will not feel alone this time. If she turns against Uther, that is one thing, and perhaps inevitable given his father's hypocrisy, but Arthur will do what he can to see that she doesn't reject him too. Before, she had turned her back on the kingdom along with the king, and Arthur hopes he can prevent that this time around.

Sophia… Arthur remembers little of the girl from the first time he'd lived this part of his life. But she is beautiful and seems kind, and has undergone an ordeal besides. What harm is there in behaving like a gentleman toward her and showing her the beauty of Camelot, to offset the horrors she has survived?

On the other hand, a beautiful girl is supposed to murder him, and Morgana is genuinely upset. He sees the way she glares at Sophia, and knows better now than to chalk it up to mere jealousy. He'll be cautious, and this time he won't ask Merlin to lie on his behalf. Before, the thought of Merlin in the stocks was entertaining; now, he respects his friend too much to allow it.

So he is cautious, and when Sophia makes overtures he neither encourages nor rebuffs her. He goes on the patrol he'd skipped last time, continues to train with the knights, and generally causes Uther to look at him with a strange mix of bemusement and approval, because a young man his age is supposed to be distracted by a beautiful girl, isn't he?

Sophia continues to be charming and beautiful, and Morgana continues to glare at her. Even Merlin seems wary, which sets Arthur on edge, until one day Aulfric and Sophia come together to visit Arthur in his chambers.

He doesn't remember anything after that.

Arthur wakes in his bed with a tremendous headache and feeling… waterlogged. His lungs are heavy and it feels hard to breathe, at first. Merlin and Gaius are at his bedside, which tells him something has gone wrong, but it takes a few moments for him to remember that Morgana had warned him of danger.

"What happened?"

"Don't you remember?"

"Merlin, if I remembered I wouldn't be asking. Now answer the question."

It's Gaius who speaks up. "Lord Aulfric asked Uther for permission to let Sophia court you, sire. Do you remember any of this?"

"No," says Arthur. It's all a blank, and a little frightening to consider that so much of his memory could simply be gone.

"Well, sire, you seemed amenable, quite charmed by her really, and the two of you went into the woods together. But there was a… a mishap."

"A mishap." Arthur looks at him flatly. Sophia? Uther would have him court Sophia?

"You slipped on a rock near the riverside and hit your head," says Merlin. He nods emphatically and Arthur immediately knows he's lying. "Terrible thing."

The lie hurts, more than Arthur would have expected. He knows all Merlin's secrets, or he thought he did. It's a forceful reminder that this Merlin, however, is not quite the friend Arthur had earned by the time he died. He trusts this Merlin with his life, but this Merlin does not yet trust him.

"Morgana warned me that a beautiful girl would try to murder me," he says, and does not miss the way both Merlin and Gaius stiffen. He sighs, and shifts in the bed. "Why don't you tell me what really happened?"

Gaius says nothing; he's a cagey old man, and has kept secrets for Uther for decades, so Arthur isn't surprised. But Merlin doesn't have Gaius's experience. It's possible that he feels guilty for his lies, or it's possible that he is beginning to trust Arthur after the things he's seen.

Either way, "You were enchanted," he says nervously. He won't look at Arthur as he speaks. "Sophia… she and Aulfric lied about who they really were. They—it's a long story, but—they needed to sacrifice someone of royal blood, a prince, in order to be admitted back into Avalon."

"Avalon?" Arthur can feel his headache getting worse. How in the world did Merlin learn all of this?

Merlin swallows heavily. "You nearly drowned. They enchanted you and took you to the lake, and…" His hands won't stop fidgeting with one another. "I didn't think I'd be able to find you in time."

"You saw this?"

Merlin nods. "I followed you."

"How did you stop them?"

Merlin opens his mouth, then stops. Everything in him seems to shrink. "I… I didn't. They, uh, they went to Avalon and then, and then I jumped into the lake after you. After they were gone."

Arthur suspects that Merlin is hiding something here, too, the most obvious possibility being that he'd had to use magic to stop Sophia or to find Arthur in the lake. Still. None of that matters in the grand scheme of things.

"You saved my life," says Arthur, reaching out to clasp Merlin's wrist. "Again."

Merlin still won't look at him, but the tips of his ears are pink. "It was only what anyone would do," he tries, but Arthur isn't having it.

"Nonsense. Morgana tried to warn us, and I tried to listen to her, but I think you were the only one to actually do something about it."

"You're not going to try and reward me or something, are you?" asks Merlin. "Because I'm already your manservant thanks to the first time, and I don't think I can handle anything else you or your father could come up with."

Arthur grins. "I hadn't planned to, but now that you've put the idea in my head…"

"Oh, God."

Arthur squeezes his friend's wrist one last time and lets go. "Seriously. Thank you," he says, and watches Merlin actually duck his head like a blushing maiden.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Morgana confide in one another; Arthur defies his father when it comes time to search for a druid boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not quite sure where these words came from, but they flowed really quickly and it was all I could do to get them down as fast as they were leaving my brain. Things get a little darker here, but I have avoided any graphic violence (I think) and I've been assured that Uther isn't too OOC in this. Hopefully, neither is anyone else.

Arthur makes a point of thanking Morgana for her warning about Sophia, as soon as he's allowed out of bed. "How did you know?" he asks, though he knows the answer already.

"I-I didn't," she tries, but he's known Morgana his entire life.

"Try again," he says, and she only looks at him, and if he didn't know better he'd say she looked frightened. Of him. The thought doesn't sit well with him. "'Gana. You know you can tell me anything." He rolls his eyes and adds, "Except _girl_ things, I couldn't care less about those."

It works, and Morgana smiles, a little tremulously. "It's nothing," she says. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Or else you'd run to Uther."

"I think you might be surprised about that. Come on. Try me." He reaches out and takes her hand in both of his. "Try me."

She searches his face for the longest time, and he simply waits. Either this Morgana trusts him, or she doesn't, and there is nothing Arthur can do to force that.

"You know I don't sleep well," she whispers finally, and if he didn't know better he'd swear that Morgana actually trembles in front of him.

"You dreamed it?" he prompts, and she nods as tears well up.

"They're awful. Even Gaius doesn't know how bad. I haven't the heart to tell him, but his potions haven't worked for… ages, now. And the dreams just keep getting worse." A single tear breaks free and slips down her cheek, and Arthur can't stand it. This is the sister he'd thought lost forever, the one he'd watched slip away before, the one he'd watched die at his very feet. He pulls her into his arms and holds tight, while her trembling grows worse.

"I'm so sorry you felt you couldn't come to me about this," he says, and means every word.

"I saw Sophia. Before she ever came here," says Morgana. "I recognized her when you brought her in from the wilderness. I saw her drown you."

"I'm so sorry," says Arthur, because what else is there to say? What must it be like to see the future and be powerless to change it? And yet… something occurs to him. "What if… what if you are only dreaming possibilities, and not—what if the future isn't set in stone? What if what you see can change it, if only we act in time?"

"I watched her murder you, in my dreams," says Morgana.

"And yet, here I am alive. You saw a warning, but not… not _fate_. If that makes sense."

He could be wrong, of course. What Arthur knows of sorcery could fill a thimble. What if the future _is_ set in stone, allowing people like Morgana to see it, and it's only sorcery that is able to do something about it? Arthur already knows that the only reason he's still alive is because of Merlin.

"I… yes, I think I understand." She pulls back from his embrace and looks up at him thoughtfully. "When did you become so wise?"

 _When you and Gwen and Merlin started making me pay attention_ , he thinks, but aloud he can only say, "I'm not so sure I have."

"You still don't defy Uther as much as I would like," she muses, "but you've gotten better at… deflecting him. At doing the right thing and simply not telling him about it."

"I've learned that it's pointless to argue with him on some matters, and I know that you think that means I agree with his views. I don't."

"I'm beginning to see that," she says. "I wasn't sure I could trust it, at first."

Arthur can understand that. The first time he'd lived this part of his life, he'd tried too hard to please Uther in all things, mediating between him and Morgana, trying to get both of them to see sense. Now? Well, now it's complicated. He's mourned Uther's death, and mourned Morgana's loss to what he believed was the corrupting influence of magic; he would have mourned her death as well, but he was too close to death himself to process more than the end of the war between them. He sees his father more clearly than he ever has, thanks to the revelations he experienced from Morgause and from Uther's own ghost. And he sees Morgana; oh, how he sees her. The rage that drove her is still there, simmering just beneath the surface—she is truly far more like Uther than she would ever want to admit—but there is compassion as well. She genuinely cares about Gwen and about those of lower station than herself.

This Morgana might have made a good queen of Camelot.

"If you dream anything else, or even if you don't…"

"I have Gwen," says Morgana, picking up on his discomfort. All this talk of feelings. He has no idea what he'll actually do if his sister does come to him to confide in, but he still wants to make the offer.

"Well, now you have me, as well."

"Thank you, Arthur."

* * *

 

Not two weeks later, he has the opportunity to demonstrate just how much he disagrees with Uther's policies. _His madness,_ he thinks. _Call it what it is._

An informant has told the guard that there are druids in the lower town market. The "druids" turn out to be one man and a boy, not even waist height.

Arthur remembers being more cautious last time, but he's fed up with his father's brand of hate. "Father, this is ridiculous. The druid was only in Camelot to collect supplies. Why execute him?"

"Ridiculous? Those who use magic cannot be tolerated," snaps Uther. "I would think you of all people would recognize that. Magic was nearly the death of you, not long ago."

More recently than Uther is aware, but Arthur knows better than to mention that. "The Druids are a peaceful people."

"And given the chance, they would return magic to the kingdom. They may preach peace, but they conspire against me. We cannot—"

"Against you, or against Camelot?"

"They are the same thing!"

"Not in this case, I don't think," says Arthur. "Your hatred of magic blinds you to the folly of what you are about to do."

"And what would you know of folly, hm? What life experiences, what _wisdom_ have you acquired, that you think you know so much better than your father and your king?"

Arthur has overstepped himself. He has ten years of experience that his father _cannot_ know about, has reigned for nearly six, and knows damn well that Uther is only signing his own death warrant with every enemy he creates in his futile attempt to purge the realm of magic. But he can say none of that. He looks away, jaw clenched, and does not speak.

"Yes, that is what I thought," says Uther, smug, and Arthur very nearly walks out on him in that moment. "As I was saying, these druids would return their foul _sorcery_ to our kingdom, given even half a chance. We cannot give that to them, cannot grant them so much as an _inch_. We _must_ not appear weak."

"Was it not you who taught me that mercy can be a sign of strength?" Perhaps Arthur should have said that with a bit less challenge in his voice, but he is heartily sick of his father's hypocrisy.

Angered again, Uther rounds on Arthur, fists clenched. "We have a responsibility to protect this kingdom."

"From what? A man buying herbs and a boy who cannot be more than ten summers old?"

"From the evil they carry within them!"

"So you would execute a man, not for what crimes he commits, but for nothing more than what he is."

"If what he is is a sorcerer, then _yes_. Druids are _not_ to be tolerated in Camelot. Executing them both will send a clear message."

"What message?! That the king of Camelot is not above murdering children in his ceaseless, irrational war against magic?"

"It is not murder! It is justice! And it is _not_ irrational!"

Arthur begins to wonder if his father even listens to himself anymore. "Morgana is right, you know." He shakes his head, weary of this argument and ready to leave. "You create your own enemies, Father, with every innocent life you take."

" _Druids and sorcerers_ are the farthest thing from innocent. They live and breathe magic and are corrupted down to their very souls. Now, you will obey me in this. Find the boy. Search every inch of the city."

Arthur draws himself up and looks his father dead in the eye.

"No."

There is a long silence.

"What did you say to me?"

The prince Arthur once was would have been terrified to defy Uther, but he is not that boy any longer. He has been a king, and he has made himself a man, he has lived and bled and _died_ for Camelot, and if there is one thing he has learned, it is what is best for his kingdom, and this is not it. "I said no. I will not be party to the hunt and murder of a child, who has committed no crime other than to be born as he was. I will not take innocent blood upon my hands for you any longer. If you want this child dead so badly, search for him yourself."

"You dare—"

"I do. I am your only son and unless you disown me, I will one day be king. I will inherit the _mistakes_ you have made and have to live with the consequences of your actions. I will have to live with the fruit of your own hypocrisy, and clean up the mess _you_ have made of this kingdom. Sorcerers try to kill you or me every other week, it seems—yes, because you have driven them to such desperation! How many of them have you slaughtered to cover up your own guilt?"

Uther has gone pale. "What are you talking about?"

Arthur drops his voice so that Uther has to lean forward to hear him. "I know the secret of my mother's death," he says, "the secret you've tried to keep from me—the secret you created the Great Purge in order to cover up!"

"Gaius," Uther breathes. His eyes dart madly about the room, but Arthur has no idea what he might see. "He swore an oath. I will see him beheaded by dawn."

"You'll do no such thing, Father. Gaius never told me. I didn't even know he knew." Although he shouldn't have been surprised, really. He thinks quickly. "I had a _vision_."

"And what did your so-called vision tell you?" Uther is trying to hold onto his anger, Arthur can tell, but he can also tell that his father is on shaky ground and knows it.

He takes a step forward, grateful that there are no guards or other servants in the room with them. Oh, the rumors that would have flown from this confrontation, were any to overhear. "I know that you conspired with Nimueh to force my mother to conceive, rather than waiting for nature to take its course." Another step forward. "I know that you were warned of the price—a life for a life—and I know that you did not care." Another. "You were perfectly willing to let someone else _die_ in order to have your precious heir… and _my mother_ paid that price." He is inches away from Uther now, and unafraid of anything the man might do to him. "Only then did you decide it was too high a price to pay. Only _then_ did you declare your war on magic, when the fault was yours all along. You are a hypocrite and a liar," he shouted, feeling the echoes of the past in his words, "and I will _not_ be party to any of it any longer!"

Uther reels back, eyes wide and staring as if he has never seen Arthur before in his life. Perhaps he hasn't.

"Hunting magic users who have done no harm is a vile act. Hunting the druids is a _vile act_. I will _not_ search the city for that boy only to hand him over to your executioner. If I find him before you do, I will see him safely back to his people. I will not murder one more person to further your vendetta, not today or any other day."

"You will not search for that boy at all," says Uther. "You will be in the dungeons for your disobedience. Guards!" he shouts, and the doors behind Arthur are thrown open.

"So be it," says Arthur. "Imprison me for speaking the truth. Disown me, _banish_ me, if you wish. Perhaps you can name Morgana your heir," he adds, just to watch his father flinch. He shakes his head and waits for the guards to come and take his arms. "I have been your loyal son in all things, but I will not be in this. Not ever again."

* * *

 

That night, Morgana comes to his cell. "I can't believe you did that," she says.

"Truth be told, I'm a little surprised myself," says Arthur, just to hear her laugh. He is fairly certain that Uther will not have him killed; that would invalidate Ygraine's sacrifice and mean that his father's entire twenty-year-long purge of magic was for nothing. "So what is it to be?" he asks, trying to hide his nervousness. "Am I disowned, or banished?"

"Neither," says Morgana. "He hasn't decided yet, but I've been trying to convince him to be lenient."

"Lenient." Arthur turns away and paces his cell. "After the way I defied him, I don't think he can afford to be _lenient_."

"If he disowns you, I will go with you," she says fervently. "I will not abide his presence after this. You spoke the truth and he refuses to hear it."

"I'll go with you too," says a new voice, as Merlin rounds the corner. He's carrying a tray of food and an extra blanket. Gwen is beside him, carrying Morgana's cloak.

"And I'll follow my lady wherever she decides to go," she says. "Here. I thought you might take a chill if you were down here long."

Arthur steps closer to the bars and lowers his voice. "What news of the boy?"

His three visitors trade glances, and none of them says anything. One corner of Arthur's mouth curls up.

"'Gana, do you remember when we used to explore the tunnels under the castle?"

* * *

 

Ultimately, the king decides on several days' stay in the dungeon, with no visitors permitted, followed by a flogging to teach his son a lesson in obedience. When word gets out, as Arthur knows it will, no doubt the punishment will also send a message to the populace: the king's word is law, and not even the prince is above it.

Arthur does not resist as he is led to the post, at the end of the hall in the dungeon, and his arms chained tightly over his head. The guard offers him a gag, something to bite down on to muffle the screams they are sure he will make, but he refuses. His father wants to send a message to the populace? Very well, so will Arthur. Uther thinks he can inspire obedience through fear, and he is right. But loyalty won through respect lasts longer, runs deeper, and is harder to sway. Arthur will win this encounter in the long run.

The first cut is the hardest, because of the anticipation. The rest come in a steady rhythm, slow, with just enough time to breathe between each stroke, but at least the executioner isn't toying with him.

Yes, they hurt; they hurt like hell, but Arthur is no stranger to pain.

At the sixth stroke, Arthur's legs give way, so that the shackles are the only thing holding him up. He reminds himself that he's been hurt worse. He's died, after all. This time, Uther wants his humiliation, not his death. He won't risk crippling his son, either, which is a possibility with this sort of punishment. The guard hasn't told Arthur how many strokes he is to take, no doubt because Uther wants to make the ordeal more frightening for him. But Arthur has seen floggings before and knows that he can't physically take more than ten strokes without risking permanent injury.

Things get a little fuzzy around the ninth stroke, and then the last one lands. He is pretty sure he managed not to cry out, but he could not help the strangled-sounding moan that escaped his lips. The world is fading in and out around Arthur, and his back is on fire from shoulder to hip, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. His eyes are watering from the pain, but he doesn't think he's actually weeping.

Then Merlin is there, holding him up as the guards unfasten the shackles, and Arthur is nearly undone. It is so tempting… Merlin is the only one Arthur ever feels safe to be _weak_ around, the only person in front of whom he can drop the facade of the prince, or the king. Merlin pulls one of Arthur's arms across his shoulders; Arthur feels himself start to bury his head in Merlin's shoulder, then pulls himself back at the last second. No. There are still people watching.

"Take him to his chambers," says Uther. Of course the king was watching. Not his father: Arthur has said goodbye to his father twice already, once when Uther died and once when Arthur had to banish his ghost back to the Otherworld. He has no difficulty saying farewell to that man now. Arthur is barely conscious, but he makes a point of making eye contact with the man—the king—as he staggers out the door, leaning heavily on Merlin all the while.

"Arthur." Uther actually does look upset, but that's not enough for Arthur. "I regret that this was necessary. But you left me with no other choice."

Arthur's voice is quiet and it rasps as though he's been screaming when he replies. "What would Ygraine think," he says softly, "of the tyrant you've become?"

Uther actually stumbles back as though Arthur has struck him. Arthur cannot find it in himself to feel sorry.

* * *

 

Arthur does not remember most of the journey back to his chambers; the effort required to go up the stairs nearly causes him to lose consciousness completely, and he is leaning more of his weight onto Merlin's slight frame than his friend should really be able to hold.

"Stronger than you look," he mutters.

"Not much farther," says Merlin. His voice is shaking, but whether it is with effort or emotion Arthur lacks the energy to discern. "Gaius is waiting, with, with salves and potions and things. He'll ease the worst of the pain. Have you right as rain in no time."

"You'll stay?"

"Yeah. 'Course I will." They make it up another couple of steps together, and he hears Merlin say it again, softly. "'Course I will."

* * *

 

Things fade in and out for Arthur for some time after that. He is resting on his stomach, wincing now and again as Gaius or Merlin applies salve and poultices to his back to stave off infection. At one point he thinks he hears Merlin speaking in the language of magic, but he could be imagining things. He is too exhausted to care, in any case.

Some unknown length of time later, he hears the shuffle of Morgana's slippers as she comes into his chambers, and he shifts, wanting to hide this from her. It is nothing a lady should see. Gaius says as much to her and Arthur hears her scoff.

"I have seen heads roll across the cobblestones," she says bitterly. "I have seen innocent people murdered for Uther's rage. I think I can bear to sit with Arthur after he was injured only for standing up to that tyrant."

"Leave us," says Arthur, and they all go still. They must have thought he was asleep. Perhaps he was, given the way he's slurring his words. He can practically hear them exchanging meaningful glances above him. "I said leave us, Gaius. It's all right. Merlin can stay. If I need anything."

The physician takes his leave, and Arthur listens to the sounds of his feet as he moves across the chamber, the snick of the door opening, the clatter of the latch as it closes. Almost immediately, Morgana sits on the edge of the bed and takes his hand.

"The boy?" Arthur asks.

Morgana starts to cry, and Arthur fears the worst, until she says, "Safe. He's safe."

He squeezes her hand once, and feels the fingers of her other hand in his hair; relief chases him under and he knows no more.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur recovers from his injuries, and faces a wraith in combat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me fits. I still think I could have trimmed about 2000 words from the beginning of it and the flow would have been fine, but ultimately I decided to keep them (they were pretty good words), and so you have a significantly longer chapter as a result. I hope you don't mind. 
> 
> I still don't think this chapter is one of my best. The plot is shaky, mainly because Uther doesn't do some things that would have made sense but complicated things hopelessly. But whatever, it isn't terrible and I'm tired of looking at it, and now you know a bit more about the truth of the Writing Process (tm). :)

It is several days before Arthur is supposed to be capable of doing more than sitting up long enough to use his chamberpot; naturally this means that Arthur is caught, by Merlin, trying to dress himself only the second morning afterward.

"Are you out of your mind?" he demands, and despite the pain he is in, Arthur fights back a grin. Merlin is one of very few people ever to stand up to him, and by every god, he's missed it. "Do you want to risk being permanently crippled, because that's what you're doing if you don't let these heal properly!"

"The king wants to see me weakened at his hand," says Arthur. "I plan to prove to him that nothing he does will keep me from my duties."

" _Hang_ your duties, you—you lunatic! It's not going to look very bloody princely if you can't lean back on your throne because you've bled through your shirt and you might _stick_."

"Thank you, Merlin, for that lovely image."

"Look, at least wear something lighter than that. And skip the jacket—"

"I'm not skipping the jacket."

"Says you. I'm certainly not helping you put it on. If you can stand to wear it for more than ten seconds, it'll be a bloody miracle."

Damn Merlin for being right so much of the time, anyway. Without his help, putting the heavy red leather across his shoulders is an exercise in enduring pain. He's sweating and trembling faintly, and hoping Merlin doesn't notice, by the time the collar is laid across the back of his neck.

"You're shaking," says Merlin. Of course he notices.

"Shut up, Merlin," says Arthur. The leather is holding in his body heat and the sweat from the pain is making each individual whip cut _burn._ "Shut up, and help me get this thing off."

For once Merlin does as he's told with speed and a surprising lack of clumsiness. "You're bleeding," he says quietly, once the jacket has been eased off his shoulders. "Let me get the salve."

"Salve won't help," says Arthur. "And I'm still inclined to go to court."

"Still thick in the head then, I see," mutters Merlin.

"Have you yet figured out who you're talking to?"

Merlin heaves a put-upon sigh. "Still thick in the head, _my lord,"_ he says, and Arthur can't help the laugh.

* * *

 

Uther looks as surprised as anyone when Arthur walks into the council chamber and moves toward his seat. Granted, he's walking very, very slowly and holding himself very, very carefully, but he wasn't supposed to be out of bed for days yet.

"My lord," he greets the king.

"My son," says Uther, but Arthur ignores that. He cautions himself against doing anything stupid, and takes his seat.

The councilors are staring at him, but Arthur merely raises an eyebrow. "I hope I haven't interrupted anything."

"N-no, Your Highness," says one of them eventually. "We, er… we were just discussing crop reports from the northern reaches of the kingdom."

Arthur nods and almost orders the man to carry on before he remembers that technically, that is not yet his place.

* * *

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches Uther staring at him more than once as the session proceeds. Arthur ignores him, and gives his full attention to the councilmen, if only because it helps to take his mind off the pain he's in. He's never been more grateful for Merlin's silent presence, even though he can _feel_ the other man judging him from his post behind Arthur's chair.

When the session ends, Arthur waits for the other councillors to leave before he leans forward, preparing to push his chair back from the table; the pull across his back sends pain ripping through his body, and he inhales sharply through his nose rather than cry out. He can feel the sweat beading his upper lip.

"Arthur?" Uther is there immediately, the picture of concern, reaching out to help him to his feet.

Arthur shrugs him off, even though the motion hurts just as much. "I'm fine."

"I am well aware that you are not," says the king, his father, but Arthur has no answer to that that will not start another battle between them. He turns and leaves the council chamber, Merlin close by his side but careful not to bump into him.

* * *

 

After the council session, Arthur tries to go to the training grounds; Merlin argues with him the entire way, whenever there is no one around to overhear. Finally he stops, halfway to the grounds, ignoring the way exhaustion is settling into his limbs.

"The knights need to see me and know that I am still their leader," explains Arthur. "And I need to see them, before the king decides to take that responsibility away from me as a further punishment. He could do it easily, using my injury as an excuse, and then conveniently forget to ever give it back."

"And if you collapse before you even make it to the grounds, he'll have even more excuse," counters Merlin. "Not to mention that he'll probably find a way to blame me for it. You look terrible."

"Thanks."

"I mean it, Arthur, you're so pale you look half-dead, and your legs are shaking. No one who looks at you is going to blame you for taking the rest of the day off. Or the next _several_ days, as you're supposed to be doing."

Standing in the sun as they are, Arthur is in fact growing a little lightheaded, even if he would rather die than admit it. The pain and exertion have taken their toll, whether he likes it or not. "Fine," he sighs. "Fine." He has Sir Leon, after all, and can always get a report from him as to the disposition of the other knights.

Arthur turns to go back to his chambers, and stumbles as a wave of dizziness washes over him. Merlin is there to catch him, of course, and Arthur waits a moment, breathing through the pain. "You've already died once," he mutters to himself, "this is nothing."

"What do you mean, you've died?" asks Merlin. His voice is going a little high with disbelief, or shock, or worry, or whatever it is Arthur's words have provoked.

Damn.

"Figure of speech," says Arthur, and curses himself for slipping up. "Go on ahead and draw me a bath. Cool water."

"I'm not sure I should just leave you here—"

"Damn it, Merlin, just go!"

"I can draw a bath just as well after I've helped you back to your chambers."

"I don't need your bloody help."

"Oh, you mean like you didn't need my help getting dressed this morning?" retorts his insolent, rude, peasant of a servant, and Arthur glares. Merlin, of course, is mentally afflicted and therefore undeterred by this. "Look, I'm not the one trying to be an ass, here; you're looking worse by the second and I don't want you to collapse while I'm off hauling buckets of water. Remember what I said about the king finding a way to blame me if anything happens to you? And even if he doesn't, Gaius _will_."

Arthur rolls his eyes, and grits his teeth, and refrains from shaking Merlin, mainly because he is right. Arthur is feeling poorly and is still furious at his father, and looking for someone to take out the worst of his temper on.

He's supposed to be better than this.

He waits until they are most of the way to his chambers before he says it. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right, sire," says Merlin, and that is that.

* * *

 

Arthur doesn't see much of the king while he recovers. Uther does call him into his chambers one evening, but the encounter doesn't exactly go well.

"You are healing?" he asks, and Arthur resists the urge to remind him that the only reason he is injured in the first place is because Uther commanded it.

"Yes, my lord," is all he says. Uther waits, but Arthur has nothing more to say. Eventually the king realizes this, and looks displeased. Well, in Arthur's experience, that is nothing new.

"This petulance doesn't suit you, Arthur," says Uther. "You left me with no choice but to punish your disobedience."

Petulance, he calls it. "And you left me no choice but to disobey you."

"Magic is a plague on this land and it must be eradicated!"

"Malicious magic, yes. On that we are in agreement, my lord. But we will never see eye to eye on the murder of innocents, nor on the execution of those who are only suspected of sorcery and not even given a proper trial." Uther's eyes are hard and cold, but there is something inside Arthur that needs to keep trying. "Your policy is meant to eliminate enemies to Camelot, but instead all it does is breed more of them. We are attacked again and again by desperate people who have nothing to lose. Clearly, we are taking the wrong approach—"

"You know nothing of what Camelot was like before your birth, when magic ran rampant and unchecked. It was a _plague._ Eradicating it is the only way to protect Camelot!"

"Protect Camelot, or assuage your own guilt?"

Uther's face goes red and his eyes go wide. "I expect better from you than this _insolence_ ," he begins, but Arthur turns away.

"And I expected better from you." It is not the first time he has looked upon his father and discovered him to be less than perfect, but the hurt and disappointment never seem to get any better. There is a part of Arthur, he supposes, that is still a little boy looking up to a man whom he'd thought could do no wrong, and it still, always, upsets his world when he discovers he is mistaken.

* * *

 

 He learns from Merlin that Morgana has taken to walking out of any room Uther walks into, and has refused to dine with him. Merlin, who gossips like an old spinster aunt, has apparently heard from Gwen that there was a shouting match at one point, which really doesn't surprise Arthur considering the two personalities involved. He reminds himself that he himself is _not_ a gossiping spinster aunt, and doesn't need to know the substance of what was said. If it is important, he'll find out regardless, and in any case, his guesses based on Morgana and Uther's personalities are likely to be accurate enough. God knows he's heard them clash before, after all.

On his way to dinner one evening, he overhears her. "This is what you wanted, isn't it, my lord?" she asks, and Arthur can just imagine the icy glare she's giving the king. "Your son, the prince and heir, humiliated and in pain, because he dared to tell you a truth you did not wish to hear?" Arthur winces, knowing this can't end well. "Or did you merely wish to take your anger out on _him_ since you couldn't find a convenient druid to murder instead?"

"I grow weary of your disrespect, Morgana—"

"And I grow weary of your madness, for that is what it is."

"Morgana!"

She sweeps past Arthur in the corridor, her expression changing instantly from haughty disdain to concern as she spots him.

"I'm fine, 'Gana," he says quietly.

"Good luck. I'm afraid I've left him in something of a mood."

Arthur smiles. "When do you not?"

"He deserves it." Morgana reaches up and caresses his cheek. Her green eyes are so sincere as she searches his face. "You are a better man now than Uther ever was, and you'll be a better king, too."

* * *

 

Uther and his son do not so much reconcile as they put the incident behind them and pretend it never happened. Arthur attends council sessions, trains the knights, and sees to his duties as best his injuries will allow. If he catches the knights and other members of the nobility looking at him speculatively, well, there's nothing he can do about it. In a way, having such a visible break with Uther has been good for Arthur; he doesn't have to watch his behavior quite so carefully, doesn't have to pretend that he's still the same youth he was ten years ago, before he'd died and come back to this earlier time. He overhears a few people commenting on his newfound maturity. Some of them, he is annoyed to discover, think that Uther's flogging may have been the cause of it.

Let them think what they will. He still has his position, and still has the knights. He still has the respect of both Merlin and Morgana, and Gwen no longer seems quite so afraid of him either.

He is nearly healed, and Uther, perhaps out of a desire to show the court that nothing has changed between him and his son, marks Arthur's coming of age and names him Crown Prince of Camelot, as though he hadn't had his son flogged only a few weeks before. Arthur takes the oath for the second time in his life, feeling strangely detached throughout the ceremony. He means every word—Camelot will always be his to protect—but it is difficult to muster up the necessary conviction in his voice when he has already spoken this oath, already lived it, already ruled as Camelot's king.

Still, he speaks the oath, and has no sooner been crowned than the glass shatters inward and a black-clad knight, riding a black horse, leaps through the window and casts his gauntlet down at Uther's feet.

Sir Owain picks it up.

Memory comes crashing down on Arthur with the force of a nightmare.

Owain's loyalty to his king is commendable, of course… but he is inexperienced, Arthur's newest knight, and his desire to prove himself is going to get him killed.

Once again, Arthur finds himself reliving a moment from his past that he desperately wishes he could change, and about which he can do nothing.

* * *

 

Owain fights.

Watching the bout take place, Arthur spots something he'd missed the first time. Owain closes with the Black Knight, and though the angle of their bodies blocks Arthur's view, from the twist of Owain's hips and the motion of his shoulder, he knows, he _knows,_ that Owain has landed a killing blow. But the Black Knight seems to ignore it, as if Owain had never touched him. They fight on, and only moments later, Owain dies.

Arthur cannot stand this. The knight casts his gauntlet to the ground again, and Arthur leaps forward, only to have Uther yank him back at the last second. He glares furiously at the king as Sir Pellinore takes up the challenge.

* * *

 

Arthur stomps down to Gaius's chambers. "Is it possible to use magic to stave off a fatal wound?" he demands, throwing the door open without knocking.

"I—sire?"

"You heard the question. The Black Knight took a blow from Sir Owain that should have incapacitated him, or at least slowed him down. He ignored it. Moved as if it were nothing." _And now Owain is dead_ , goes unsaid between them.

"I saw it too!" says Merlin. "Owain got him in the belly, a solid blow."

The old physician looks uncertain, although Arthur isn't sure if it's because he doesn't know the answer to his question, or if he does know and doesn't want to say.

"Gaius. Answer me."

"So far as I know, sire, there is no way for a living man to ignore a fatal blow in the manner you have described."

"No _living_ man?" says Merlin.

"Are you saying he's not alive?" asks Arthur.

"I'm uncertain," says Gaius. "However, I am looking into the matter."

"Tell me what you find." Gaius looks uncomfortable, and Arthur is able to piece together why. "You're keeping secrets for my father, aren't you."

"I have sworn oaths to the king—"

Of course he has. "And if I tell you that I had a vision that likely reveals all of Uther's secrets for you? It's the real reason he had me flogged, I am sure. For having the audacity to know the things I had a _right_ to know, now that I am of age."

Gaius and Merlin are both watching him warily, as if he's some sort of madman, but damn it, a good man died today, and if Arthur finds out that it could have been prevented by the secrets Uther has tried to keep, he may well demand that Uther abdicate as part of his own challenge.

So Arthur closes the door, sits down at the table, and tells them what he knows of Ygraine's death. "I told this to my father, as well," he says when he is finished. "He immediately decided that you must have told me, Gaius. He was going to have you beheaded for it."

Gaius sighs heavily, and Arthur cannot help but have a moment of sympathy for the older man. He has been put in an impossible position, between the prince and the king, and has been forced to walk the very fine line between loyalty and treason ever since.

"The Black Knight bears the crest of Tristan du Bois, sire."

"Du Bois. My mother's family."

"Just so, sire. Ygraine's brother blamed Uther for your mother's death, and swore vengeance. Uther killed him in single combat, but now… Merlin and I checked the burial vaults beneath the palace, and Tristan's tomb is empty."

"You broke into my uncle's tomb?"

"We didn't have to," says Merlin. "The lid was smashed open. Like Tristan himself had already broken _out._ "

"We believe he has returned as a wraith, sire, the spirit of a dead man conjured from the grave. Only a powerful sorcerer could do such a thing—harness the grief and rage of a tormented soul and make it live again."

"Then how do we destroy it?" asks Arthur.

"I don't know, sire. You cannot kill what is already dead. No mortal weapon can touch it."

That reminds Arthur of something… something from when Morgana had finally died. _No mortal blade can harm me_ , she'd said, and Merlin had said… what?

"No _mortal_ weapon," he says slowly. "But could something else? An enchanted weapon?"

Gaius looks doubtful. Merlin looks thoughtful. "I'll be in the library," he says suddenly, and dashes off.

* * *

 

Pellinore fights. Unlike Owain, he is a seasoned knight with many battles under his belt. He's fast, and intelligent, and gets the upper hand quickly, running the wraith through.

What is left of Tristan ignores the blow, just as he did yesterday, and takes advantage of Pellinore's shock and hesitation to separate his head from his body. The crowd screams.

Arthur casts his own gauntlet down to the sand, ignoring his father's exclamation. "I, Arthur Pendragon, challenge you."

"So be it," says the wraith, and how could they have mistaken that hollow voice for anything living?

"Tomorrow. Noon. To the death."

* * *

 

Uther, unsurprisingly, is furious. "How could you be so stupid?! I'll revoke the challenge."

"No. The Knight's Code must be upheld. That's what you taught me. That's what you _told_ me, before Owain was killed."

"This is different!"

Arthur stands his ground. "Once the challenge is laid down, it cannot be rescinded."

" _You_ are Crown Prince."

"There cannot be one rule for me and one for all the rest!"

Uther is implacable. "I forbid you to fight," he says, and Arthur thinks it's like the druid boy all over again. Why must he oppose his father in order to do what is right?

"You want me to prove that I'm worthy of the throne, do you not?" he asks bitterly. "I cannot do that by being a coward."

"No, Arthur, this will be your death!"

Arthur rounds on Uther, fists clenched. "And what makes you say that? Is it that you have so little faith in me, or is it that you already know that two of our knights have faced an unkillable monster? Yes, I know what he is," he adds, as Uther's eyes grow wide. "The spirit of Tristan du Bois, bent on revenge. No mortal blade can kill him. You knew it—"

"No, I—"

"You _knew_ it, and you threw away our knights' lives for nothing."

"Better them than you!" Uther shouts, and Arthur pulls back in surprise.

"Do you think so little of me and my skills? How many times must I prove myself to you?"

"You have nothing to prove, Arthur! You are my son. It is a knight's duty to lay down his life for king and country, if necessary, and Owain and Pellinore did so willingly. You are _different_ , whether you like it or not, and I will _not_ allow you to fight tomorrow." Uther turns away, gazing at nothing, one hand rubbing at his chin. "Ygraine gave up her life for you, and I can do no less. The spirit wants revenge, and will only vanish once it achieves its aims."

Arthur nearly staggers back at the thought of what Uther has just declared. "And you think once it kills you it will vanish?"

"You are the future of Camelot. And you are my son. I will not allow you to be destroyed for the mistakes of my past."

Arthur feels as though he's been punched in the chest. "Father…"

"No. I will fight him tomorrow, in your stead. He will kill me and vanish, and that will be the end of it."

"And if he doesn't vanish, what then? Camelot will be without a king, and I will be forced to avenge you as well as my knights, and I will fail as well. Camelot will fall."

But Uther is shaking his head before Arthur can even finish. "No. No, the spirit has come for me, not you. If you fight, you will die, and I cannot allow that."

Arthur crosses his arms, feeling the pull of barely-healed scars across his back. "And I suppose you think I will stand idly by and allow _you_ to be killed in my stead?"

"Damn it, Arthur—"

"No. If there is one thing you have taught me to honor my entire life, it is the demands of duty. I may be Crown Prince now, but I am also Camelot's first knight. You said it yourself: my duty is to lay my life down for king and country if need be, and I do so willingly."

"Arthur!"

Arthur turns and leaves before the king can think to have him arrested again. He can't tell Uther that he has a powerful sorcerer on his side, working to protect him. All he can do is buy Merlin time to come up with some sort of solution.

But what solution? The last time Arthur lived this, he had ended up drugged while Uther took his place, and his father did succeed in defeating the wraith. What if he's right, and the only way to defeat Tristan is for Uther to take the field?

It doesn't matter. Arthur will not stand idly by and allow his father to die, nor anyone else to take Arthur's place tomorrow.

* * *

 

Arthur waits until Gaius comes to him that night. "To help settle your nerves," he says, and Arthur glares back, unimpressed.

"I suggest you give this to my father," says Arthur, "because I certainly will not be taking it, only so that I may be locked in my rooms like a child."

"Sire—"

"No," says Arthur. "But you may tell the king that it was a nice try."

Once Gaius has left, and Arthur has made sure the door will still open for him, he dresses and puts together a bedroll, and goes to the armory to sleep.

* * *

 

"What are you doing down here?" is the question that wakes him in the morning. Merlin is standing over him, holding a long bundle that looks a little too obviously like a sword wrapped in a cloak.

"The king wanted to take my place in the fight today," says Arthur, sitting up and kicking his blankets aside. "He tried to have Gaius slip me a sleeping draught and lock me in my chambers."

"Might not have been a bad idea," says Merlin. When Arthur glares, he hastily adds, "Not the potion bit, or the locking you in. Only you're still recovering—you know, your back?—and you'll need to be at your best today."

"I know." He nods at the bundle. "What have you got there?"

Merlin looks around as if someone might overhear them. "It's a sword," he says, unwrapping it, and Arthur immediately recognizes Excalibur. It seems almost to glow as he reaches for it, and the balance is even better than he remembers. "It's, er, special."

Yes, Arthur knows that already. "Meaning?"

"Well. It was something you said yesterday. Tristan du Bois is already dead. No mortal blade will kill him. But this is no mortal blade."

Just like that, Arthur remembers the rest of what Merlin had said to Morgana as she lay dying. _Like yours, it was forged in a dragon's breath._ Arthur is torn between wanting to strangle Merlin and wanting to hug him. This sword may well save his life, but how would his best friend from his first life have known where it came from? How could he have? On top of that, in Arthur's first life, he never saw Excalibur this early; it was years before he first encountered the blade, embedded in a stone in the middle of the forest.

Arthur should have guessed that Merlin was lying about that as well. He'd lied about so many other things.

"Where did you find it?" he asks carefully. One twirl of the blade through the air and it really does sing, a joyous hum that Arthur feels shivering down his spine. He immediately pulls his old sword from its sheath and puts Excalibur where it belongs, by his side, on his hip.

"Oh. Um. In the, the vaults," says Merlin. "I don't think anyone knew it was there, but there was a mention in Geoffrey's chronicles."

Arthur has no way to know whether that is true.

"Help me get my armor on."

* * *

 

Arthur dismisses Merlin to the stands as soon as he sees Uther approaching the armory. He is expecting an angry confrontation, and knows that his servant will likely catch the brunt of Uther's temper afterward if he's still in the vicinity.

"Arthur, you _cannot_ do this." Far from being angry, however, Uther seems desperate.

"You have so little faith in me, Father."

"My belief in your skills as a fighter has nothing to do with it!" Uther steps forward to take Arthur by the shoulders. "This is a wraith. An undead spirit of vengeance, summoned by no less than Nimueh herself. If you face it, you will die."

"And if you face it, so will you. Camelot cannot be without a king."

"Arthur—"

"Enough, Father. We have had this conversation already. You are distracting me and I cannot afford that before this combat, out of any I've ever faced." Uther stops, looking pale. "Just think, you can have me arrested and flogged for disobeying you after it is over."

Uther clearly does not appreciate the attempt at a joke. "After it is over I may not have a _son_!"

"You will." It is rare that he should be in a position to offer encouragement or reassurance to his father, of all people. "Go take your place in the stands. I will be fine."

* * *

 

He is ten years younger than he was the last time he entered mortal combat; faster, with better reflexes, and with a sword that can kill the dead.

Tristan hits hard, but Arthur is reassured to discover that he is by no means the strongest or fastest opponent he's faced. He's certainly not _unnaturally_ strong or fast, but when Arthur's blow knocks the wraith's helmet loose, the audience is divided between cheering him and screaming at Tristan's ghastly appearance.

It is over all too quickly. Arthur swings, knows the blow will strike true…

…and Tristan explodes into flame and smoke and dust that smells of the grave.

Excalibur almost seems to vibrate in his hand, afterward. Or perhaps that is the air, quivering with the cheers of hundreds of Camelot's citizens.

* * *

 

"How is this possible? Gaius said the wraith would only vanish when it got what it came for."

"Perhaps Gaius was mistaken about what sort of monster we faced," says Arthur. "Or perhaps… perhaps we were wrong about what it wanted. Perhaps it needed only to face a Pendragon for the chance at vengeance."

It is a lie, and Arthur does not like deceiving his father, but for some reason he thinks telling his father he killed the wraith with an enchanted blade would be a bad idea. Besides, the story is plausible; certainly Uther accepts it without argument.

"In any case, well done. I am proud of you, my son."

Arthur wishes those words did not have so much power to move him. "Thank you, Father."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle for Ealdor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no idea it had been so long since my last update. My apologies. This is what happens when I have too many WIPs in the air at once. If it's any consolation, this chapter is at least a thousand words longer than my usual. Hope you like it.

Merlin's mother, Hunith, comes to Camelot, with a bruise on her cheek and a request for help. Naturally, Merlin comes to Arthur with the news, and Arthur, despite knowing what comes next, pulls the necessary strings to grant her audience with Uther.

Of course Uther refuses her, although he is at least not cruel about it. Hunith's grievance—Ealdor's grievance—is against the king of Essetir. For Camelot to come to Ealdor's aid would indeed be tantamount to declaring war against Essetir, something Camelot does not need and cannot afford. Arthur is not sure he would have done any differently, were he king, and hates himself a little bit for it.

However, in this second chance at his life, he is not king yet. He has a certain freedom to act that the king does not. Arthur is still Camelot's crown prince, and what he is about to do is still phenomenally stupid from a political standpoint, but it is the right thing to do and Arthur doesn't think he could sleep at night if he were to ignore Hunith's plight. Besides, Merlin is his friend. Arthur has few enough of those that he can truly rely on and trust, and despite the lies and obfuscation, Merlin is the closest friend he has ever had. Even after only a few short months in his first life, Arthur knows, Merlin had made him a better person. Merlin, Gwen, and Morgana; the bully and spoiled prat he had once been did not deserve them, and he's still not sure what happened that he got them anyway.

Merlin leaves Arthur's service; the other man might think he's leaving permanently to help defend his village, but Arthur knows better. After Kanen is killed—after William dies—Merlin won't have any reason to stay in Ealdor. There is no room for a sorcerer there, Arthur is sure. No, Merlin will come back to Camelot with Arthur, though the prince isn't sure whether he has any right to feel relieved over that fact.

He's still going to do what he can to save William's life, even if the other man was a bit of an ass. From what Merlin had told him the first time around, Will had had his reasons, regardless of whatever Arthur might have thought of them. People die in service to their lords all the time. Resenting the lords won't bring back the loved ones who are gone.

He leaves word with Uther that he wishes to go hunting, and does not expect to be back for several days; he's gone before Uther can decide to forbid it.

He has no idea what story Morgana and Gwen concocted to leave the palace, and only hopes they won't get into too much trouble when they return. Arthur won't be able to help them; he's supposed to be off hunting, after all. At least this time he won't waste time trying to convince either of them, or the other village women, not to fight. Any woman who wants to help defend her home will be welcome.

* * *

 

Merlin is at least alert enough to be sitting watch when Arthur makes it to their camp. He still looks completely silly waving a sword around as if he has any idea what to do with it. He's had some rudimentary instruction, at Arthur's insistence, but he's not a knight and never will be.

Arthur can't resist sneaking up on his friend, even though he did exactly the same thing the first time he lived this. Merlin's reactions are just too funny. "I'd ask you for money, but I know you don't have any."

"Arthur!" The grin on his manservant's face lights up the night, and Arthur is hard pressed not to return it, even though it is only his fast reflexes that save him from being decapitated when Merlin turns around.

"Put that down," he says, "you look ridiculous."

They go back to the little camp where the three women remain asleep, and Arthur builds up the fire. "What can you tell me about this Kanen? How many men does he have?"

Forty men, if Merlin's memory of Hunith's estimate is correct; that's a well-established band, and one that likely has more discipline to it than most. Arthur would prefer to face them down with a squad of knights; still, take out the leader and most bands would dissolve into chaos. If Kanen had a second-in-command, things could go badly for them all.

"You should get some rest," he says to Merlin. "It's going to be a long day tomorrow."

* * *

 

Their arrival in Ealdor comes not a moment too soon, as Kanen and his men are already attacking, demanding more of the harvest than the people could give and survive. It's stupid; Kanen could set himself up as a rival to Cenred, who is obviously a miserable failure as a king, if he were to manage his "taxation" of these lands responsibly. Instead he will bleed them dry and move on, and eventually Cenred will be unable to ignore him, will have to deal with him, and that will be that for Kanen.

Of course, now Kanen is angry rather than smug, and intends to come back for vengeance later. The people are afraid, but they are at least smart enough to understand that an approach like William advises will not work.

Naturally, Will takes offense to this. It's none of his business, but Arthur does have to wonder why this man is such a close friend to Merlin, and not some other person in the village. Is it because they're both odd men out?

He spends the day planning with the village elders, building defenses where he can, and setting a trap for Kanen and his men.

* * *

 

Later that night, when the girls are asleep, he talks with Merlin. He remembers this conversation from the first time around; Merlin doesn't, however, and Arthur can't afford to assume a friendship between them that isn't there because he neglects to build it.

"Did you always sleep on the floor?"

He listens to Merlin describe life as a villager, and admittedly it does have its appeal: the simplicity of it, the freedom from the weight of his father's expectations. Even so, Merlin is right; Arthur would hate it after only a week, most likely. He is a prince, and is meant for greater things… much the way Merlin himself is. No doubt they both would grow restless if they were left here too long.

"Why'd you leave?"

"Things just… changed."

Arthur could just bet. "How?" he asks, and Merlin hesitates. "Come on," he coaxes. "Stop pretending to be interesting and tell me."

"I just didn't fit in anymore. I wanted to find somewhere that I did."

Before, Arthur had teased him when he asked. Now, he's serious: "Had any luck?"

He hears the smile in Merlin's voice, but it's wistful. "I'm not sure yet."

 _You have a place with me,_ Arthur wants to say. _You'll always have a place with me._

* * *

 

The next day, Arthur dedicates himself to organizing defenses and going through the most rudimentary training with those who are willing to fight. He's not exactly pleased to see women taking up arms, but he can't deny that they put their hearts and their backs into every swing, and are the equal of any of the men.

That's not saying much, though; these are peasants, generally forbidden from using weapons, with no training. Arthur has mocked Merlin in the past for being hopeless with a sword, but the truth is, he comes from an entire village of people who've never had cause to lift one in their own defense. If these were soldiers, Arthur would berate and insult them, hit them in the pride to get them moving harder and faster, but they're not. If he were their general or their king, he would call the situation hopeless, but he isn't and it's not. They are farmers and peaceful people, afraid, but willing to die in defense of their homes. They aren't facing an army, only a squad of marauders, and only because their king wouldn't lift a finger to help them himself. Arthur can only admire their spirit, and he'll do everything he can to see that they survive this encounter.

Still, he remembers the faces of people who'd died in the battle the first time he'd lived it. Matthew was a gentle soul, even more hopeless with a weapon than Merlin, and Arthur had thought he'd done the man a favor by sending him off to keep watch. Instead he'd sent him to his death, shot in the back and his corpse used to carry a message from Kanen. This time, Arthur sets him to building fences and preparing torches to light the barricade once Kanen and his men arrive.

Will is still an ass. Arthur doesn't waste time trying to persuade him; the other man has got enough stored rage and bitterness that it's just looking for an outlet, and when the bandits arrive, Arthur knows that he will fight. Throughout the day, he sees Merlin talking to him, no doubt doing all the persuading that Arthur doesn't have time for.

Last time, Morgana and Gwen had come to him, asking for the right to include the women. This time, they're already included, but Morgana still comes to him with worried eyes.

"Looks like the battle is already fought and lost," she says quietly, while they are taking a break from training.

"It only is if they think that themselves," Arthur answers.

But he can't ignore the way she and Gwen look at one another, or the pinched expression on Merlin's face when he thinks no one is looking.

* * *

 

Matthew might have survived, but that only means it's a different man on sentry duty who comes back slung over his horse. "Enjoy this day," the note reads. "It will be your last."

William, of course, is furious, and blames Arthur. That's all right. Arthur blames himself, too.

He pulls Merlin aside later that day. "Am I doing right?" he asks. "Pushing these men and women to fight, to risk their lives?"

"I think you are," said Merlin. "And you're not pushing them. These are their homes. If they gave up, gave Kanen what he wanted, they would starve and he would only continue to prey on the survivors, you're right about that. If they try to flee, they'll probably be slaughtered. Cenred won't do anything to help them. You are. That has to count for something."

"I know I've said before that you're useless with a sword," says Arthur. "I was teasing. But none of these people are soldiers. None of them has even as much training as I've given you."

"No, but they don't have a choice. And without you, they don't have a chance. They trust you to lead them to victory."

Arthur can only strive to be worthy of that trust.

* * *

 

Later that night, the people gather to hear him.

"Anyone who is unable to fight, or who plans to guard the children, should gather whatever you can and go to the woods. But the rest of you… I'm honored to stand beside you. You're not fighting for me," he says quietly. "You're certainly not fighting simply because I _tell_ you to. I am here to fight for you. You're fighting for _yourselves_. These are _your_ homes. You fight to defend your own way of life. You fight for the right to live your lives in peace. Kanen is brutal, and fights to kill, but you see, that is why he will never defeat us. Kanen fights to kill, but _you_ fight to live. And that means you fight for a nobler cause than any that some faraway king could ever set for you, for the noblest cause of all. If you fall, it will be for that noblest cause, defending your homes and your friends and your families and your lives. So you fight. And when you are old and gray, you will look back on this day and know that you've earned the _right_ to live every day in between. So you fight! You fight for your families. You fight for your friends. You fight for Ealdor!"

He is heartened when the people around him take up the cry, and he sees on their faces the most important factor in their victory: they _believe_.

He just hopes that their belief, and Merlin's magic, are enough.

* * *

 

The next day, he and Merlin armor each other, not as prince and servant but as equals, and Arthur cannot help but feel that this is how it always ought to have been between them.

"Whatever happens out there today," Merlin says before they take their positions, "please don't think any differently of me."

"I won't. It's all right to be scared, Merlin."

"That's not what I meant."

"What is it? If you've got something to say…" And in that moment, Arthur realizes: Merlin is trying to confess to him. Trying to share his biggest secret.

When Arthur had finally found out about Merlin's magic in his first life, as he lay dying from Mordred's wound, the thought that had rung in his head over and over had been that Merlin had hidden this truth from him for years. He'd been so angry, so hurt and betrayed, that he could hardly even look at Merlin at first. And even now, in his second try, Arthur has had a hard time letting go and forgiving when he sees the ways in which Merlin lies or twists the truth to protect himself.

But now… now he sees that Merlin truly wanted to tell him. Had wanted to from the start. Had even tried to, and Arthur had missed it, because—

"Arthur!" Morgana sticks her head in through the door. "They've crossed the river."

Because fate had conspired against them, in a thousand ways large and small.

Arthur understands now, and he won't allow his friend to carry this burden alone any longer.

* * *

 

The battle begins, and their tactics pay off. Last time, there was trouble setting fire to the barricade; this time, it lights right on time. Last time, the people fought against a disciplined force who had no qualms slaughtering a group of defiant, untrained peasants. This time… well, this time is no different, but Ealdor has more fighters on their side. The women have joined in, and Arthur has not wasted time trying to dissuade them. They fight just as ferociously as their men, perhaps more so. They leap from the roofs of their homes and unhorse bandits, they hamstring horses so that Kanen's men cannot charge, and they care nothing for the knight's code of honorable engagement.

Arthur was right; this is not a duel or a tournament. Kanen is brutal and wishes to punish these peasants for daring to defy him. The villagers, for their part, have no interest in bowing to his demands ever again, and they know that the only way to be free of a man like Kanen is for him and his men to be dead.

Even so, the bandits are armed, trained, and disciplined. The peasants have heart and little else. Before long, the tide turns and it looks to be a slaughter in the making…

…and that, thankfully, is when Merlin makes his presence known. Just as in the first time Arthur lived this, a huge gust of wind billows up, growing stronger and stronger, toppling horses and sending grown men tumbling across the green. The bandits flee; the villagers look like they want to.

Arthur knows, now, that Merlin was the sorcerer. Before, he was outraged, stunned, shocked that Ealdor was harboring a sorcerer, even though he had worked to save the villagers. Before, he had gone storming up to Will and Merlin, demanding to know which of them had done it. Now he knows. And he knows Merlin wants him to know, too.

How should he react?

While he's trying to decide, Morgana acts in his stead. "Magic," she breathes, running up to them both. "Was that magic? Is one of you a sorcerer?"

Merlin looks terrified. "I," he begins, but William cuts him off.

"What are you gonna do about it?" he demands. He's puffing out his chest and lifting his chin as if daring her to start a fight.

"Nothing!" says Morgana. "That was amazing. You saved us. You—"

There is a stirring from the ground behind them, and Arthur remembers too late how Will died the last time. "Look out!" He charges up, but Kanen still is able to fire his crossbow… directly at Arthur's sister.

Will, thinking quickly, shoves her out of the way and into Merlin's arms, then sinks to the ground, curled up in agony around the bolt sticking out of him. Arthur hears Merlin's scream, and Morgana's, but he is too busy making sure that Kanen will not get another shot off, or move, or breathe, ever again.

"Will!"

"You saved my life," Morgana is gasping.

"Could be worse," grunts Will. "Could've been that prince of yours."

In another life, it was. "Let's get him inside," says Arthur. "Easy with him, easy." He and Merlin lift, along with a couple of other men from the village, and Morgana and Gwen get the door, bringing William inside his own home and laying him out on the table.

"I'll see if there's a healer," says Gwen.

Arthur almost reaches out and grabs her arm. He wants to tell her not to bother; Arthur is no physician himself, but he's seen these kinds of wounds before, and Will hasn't got long to live. Instead, he lets her go, but he meets Morgana's gaze and knows that she understands. With a nod, he sends her after Gwen. They'll need each other, come nightfall.

"'S twice I've saved you lot," William says, teeth gritted against the pain.

"Twice?"

"Will, don't," Merlin tries, but his friend isn't hearing him.

"It was me. That did the magic. Saw how desperate things were getting, had to do something."

"You're the sorcerer?" Arthur hears himself asking. To be willing to lie for your friend, even on your deathbed; what kind of man is that loyal? What kind of man is Merlin, to inspire such loyalty?

William shows his teeth in a pained grin. "What are you gonna do, kill me?"

"No, of course not. It's like Morgana said. You saved us all." Saved his _sister_ , and it's only now that that realization is starting to sink in, leaving a metallic taste in Arthur's mouth. He puts a hand to the other man's shoulder and squeezes, then turns to Merlin. "Do what you can for him," he says, before leading the others out. Who knows, maybe Merlin has some magic that Arthur doesn't know about, something that can stanch the bleeding and save his friend's life. He has his doubts, though.

A few minutes later, Arthur looks up as Merlin steps out of the little house, shaking his head and tears running down his cheeks, and knows he was right.

* * *

 

Merlin and Hunith, along with a few older women from the village, are the ones to prepare Will's body for the pyre. He was Merlin's oldest friend, and all Arthur can think is that here is yet another person that Arthur hasn't been able to save. What is the point of his having come back in time, if everyone who suffered and died the first time is still going to suffer and die this second time as well?

* * *

 

The villagers build the pyre, a massive thing to accommodate all the bodies of those killed in the battle. It is hard to believe that the battle only took till mid-morning to finish. The pyre, by contrast, takes the rest of the day to construct and for the wood to be gathered and soaked with pitch. The men labor past sunset until it is too dark to see, and then they're at it again at first light the next morning. Arthur knows nothing of carpentry, but he's a strong and willing body and he helps where he is able. He sees more than one man looking at him in surprise, clearly not expecting royalty to bend themselves long enough to help where help is needed.

That night, there is ale and food in celebration of their victory. There are smiles on the faces of the freed villagers, if a bit watery in some cases, and proud words spoken of the bravery and loyalty of their comrades, both fallen and alive.

Morgana comes to him with a mug in her hand. "You did this," she says, nodding to the celebration. "You freed these people."

"They freed themselves," says Arthur.

"Don't pretend you had nothing to do with it."

"No," Arthur replies. "No, it's not that. But I won't pretend that this is truly my accomplishment either. Without you, and Gwen, and all these people—" _without Merlin_ , his thoughts whisper— "the thing would never have been done."

Morgana studies him thoughtfully. "When did you get so humble?"

Arthur snorts. "I doubt I have. I just prefer to take credit for my own victories and not those of other people. And this is decidedly Ealdor's victory."

A man passing by hears that last comment, and raises his tankard high. "For Ealdor!" he cries, and others around them take up the chant. It devolves into a wordless cheer, and then someone else starts singing raucously, and the villagers quickly join in.

"Is it always like this after a battle?" asks Gwen as she joins them, a bit breathless.

"After a victory, yes," says Arthur. "For most people." There will still be those, he knows, who can't put aside their mourning long enough to celebrate, but the rest… they will give their proper respect come daybreak. He suspects that Merlin is one of the former, though; he hasn't really seen his friend since the battle ended and they helped each other out of their armor. They crossed paths once or twice while the pyre was being built, but Merlin would not meet his eyes and walked away quickly whenever Arthur approached, claiming he was needed elsewhere.

Arthur genuinely isn't sure if Merlin is angry with him over Will's death, or if he is one of those who prefers to keep their grief to themselves.

* * *

 

Finally it is time. The bandits have been stripped for their valuables and possessions first, and the bodies are laid out to be burned in their smallclothes. The dead villagers, by contrast, have all been washed and dressed in their best clothes, with women weeping over them all and kisses given to many a cold brow. At the same time, the villagers' grief is tempered with pride, and Arthur sees that the pall of fear that had hung over everyone when they'd first arrived has vanished. Everyone seems to have a bit more dignity to their movement, a little more grace. A little more freedom, well-earned.

The pyre is large enough that it will take more than one torch to set it alight; the village elders, the widows of the dead, one or two bereaved parents, all step forward… Merlin among them, to light the pyre for Will. Flames leap up, the pitch-blackened smoke billowing skyward, but apart from the noise of the fire, all is silent. The survivors of the battle of Ealdor stand side by side and pay their respects to the fallen.

Eventually a baby cries, and a mother turns away to tend to her children, and one by one the villagers go back to their lives, leaving the dead to complete their journey on their own. Merlin stays, and so Arthur does too, keeping his friend company and remembering a time when the other man had done the same for him, during his night-long vigil over Uther's body.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, at Merlin's shoulder. "I know he was a close friend."

"He still is." Merlin's eyes are dry but his voice is desolate. Apart from Hunith, Arthur isn't sure if Merlin now has anyone or anything to tie him to this place. Arthur has never known what that must feel like, to be so uprooted and lost. How does Merlin bear it?

All Arthur can do is try to give him another anchor to cling to, if he needs it. "Earlier, there was something you wanted to tell me."

Merlin stiffens for a moment, before passing his hand across his eyes. "It doesn't matter now."

But it does, it very much does, and Arthur is not willing to let this go a moment longer. He licks his lip and braces himself. "Will wasn't the sorcerer, was he?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks, I'll be traveling for a couple of weeks and unable to update until I return, BUT in the meantime I thought you might like a new chapter for this story. The reaction I got from last chapter's cliffhanger (sorry?) suggests that I maybe shouldn't leave you in suspense for much longer. :) Enjoy!

Merlin flinches as if Arthur has struck him, and Arthur hears the little gasp he tries to cover. He won't turn to look at Arthur, and the prince can't resist putting his hand on his friend's shoulder. "It's all right," he says.

Merlin's throat works as he swallows, hard. "You saw."

Arthur shakes his head and decides to be as honest as he can. There have been too many secrets and lies between them, even if this Merlin hasn't had ten years to speak them. "I already knew."

Now Merlin turns to face him. His eyes are wide and he swallows again. Beneath Arthur's hand, he can feel his friend beginning to tremble from the tension. "But Will—"

"Will lied to protect you. I kept quiet for the same reason."

"How long have you known?" His voice is steady enough for a stranger not to notice anything, but Arthur has known him for a decade and hears the tension in it. "When did you find out?"

He would ask that, wouldn't he? "That's a complicated answer," he replies. "I'm not sure if you would believe me if I told you."

"Try me," says Merlin, his fear making him belligerent.

Arthur opens his mouth, but has no idea how to proceed. How do you tell someone that you're ten years older than you appear, and that you've died once already, and only learned the truth in your final days of life? "I'm not sure it matters," he says finally, slowly. "The point is that I know." He looks over his shoulder, but they are the only ones standing beside the still-burning pyre. Arthur lowers his voice anyway. "I know you have magic. You used it two days ago to save your village. You've used it before, to save me."

Merlin swallows a third time, and Arthur thinks he looks more than a little pale. "I've been careful—"

"You have," Arthur reassures him. "My God, Merlin, it means your life if anyone else were to find out. Of course you've been careful. I can't imagine how hard it's been for you."

"Not careful enough, it seems," says Merlin. He drags a hand through his hair, and Arthur notices the tremor in his fingers. "Gaius warned me—"

"Gaius knows too?" As he says the words, Arthur realizes how stupid they sound. Of course Gaius would know. The man has practically adopted Merlin, they live together in the palace… a part of Arthur wants to be hurt that they both kept this from him for so long, but the rest of him is relieved that Merlin wasn't truly alone for all those years that Arthur remained oblivious. "Forget I said that."

"You can't do anything to him," says Merlin, the words nearly stuttered. "He didn't—he only was—"

"Merlin. Merlin! Calm down. You look like you're about to faint." Arthur reaches out and grabs Merlin by the shoulders, giving him a little squeeze. "Calm down."

"You have to be joking," he retorts. "It's not exactly reassuring to learn that one of the people who can cut my head off if they find out, actually has found out, and won't tell me where or when."

"Yes well, cutting your head off would be pretty poor repayment for all the times you've saved me. Times you don't even know about, and I—"

"What do you mean, times I don't know about? I was there. There are times _you_ don't know about, because you were unconscious at the time."

"That's… complicated."

"Arthur!"

"Merlin. Breathe, all right? I'll tell you. But not here." He looks back at the pyre, which has begun to crumble at long last. They are the only two people still standing in front of it as the bodies burn. "I just… I wanted you to know that you're not alone," he says quietly, hearing the echoes from Uther's death and feeling like he finally gets to repay the favor. "You just lost your oldest friend. I don't want you to think you haven't got anyone else to turn to."

That must have been the right thing to say, finally, because Merlin's shoulders lose some of the tension they've been holding, and he looks at Arthur in that way that Arthur is never quite sure he deserves—as if he's truly the king, the man, that he has always hoped to be and has always thought he fell short of becoming.

"I wanted to tell you. Earlier, before the battle started."

"I know," says Arthur. "The timing just wasn't right."

"If your father ever finds out—"

"He won't," says Arthur. "Not from me." He steps in even closer. "You've risked your life to protect mine. I will do the same for you."

Merlin's shoulders drop even further, and Arthur thinks he sees tears in the other man's eyes. "Thank you," he breathes.

"No, Merlin. Thank you."

* * *

 

Hunith is waiting for them with a fresh basin of cold, clear water. He and Merlin both reek of smoke and charred meat, and are more than a little sooty from standing so close to the flames. They don't speak while they wash up and change into fresh tunics. Morgana and Gwen are waiting just outside, giving them privacy in the tiny hovel, but they could still overhear any conversation the two men might have. Uther has hunting lodges that are larger than Merlin's childhood home.

Arthur's thoughts are scattered. He knows he wants to tell Merlin the truth, the entire truth, including his death and mysterious travel ten years into his past. But he also knows that he needs to keep this information a secret from Morgana, both his rebirth and Merlin's magic as well. Arthur is going to do everything he can to support her, to keep her from living in fear when her magic comes in, but he knows her. She makes weapons of her words, and can easily do so with these secrets; if her rage is great enough, there's every chance that she'll use those weapons to hurt Arthur. Merlin could die just to spite Arthur.

At the same time, there are secrets he knows that she has the right to be told. The fact that they are siblings, just for starters. The fact that she will become a powerful sorceress, that her dreams are not something that Gaius can simply drug away… the fact that Morgause is also her sister but will do everything she can to manipulate Morgana away from the family who loves her.

He sighs, making Merlin look at him curiously, then shakes his head in response to the question on the other man's face. It would be nice if he had someone he could go to himself, to ask for guidance. Before he died, he'd been able to bounce ideas off of Merlin, rely on him for sage advice, but now, well. This Merlin is younger, which really shouldn't count against him, but he's also the subject of some of Arthur's musings. He can't very well ask Merlin to solve the problem of Merlin, can he?

* * *

They spend one more night in Ealdor, taking advantage of Hunith's hospitality even though she can't have much to spare. Arthur will make sure to leave a bit of silver under his rumpled blanket for her to find after he's left. She can use the coin to replenish her stores from what her guests have eaten during their stay, but there's no point in making a big show of things. Arthur is older now, and beginning to see what that kind of largesse can mean to those who have only meager possessions, but he also knows it would likely only embarrass them both if Arthur were to call attention to his payment for her kindness. Better to be unobtrusive, he thinks.

The girls are sharing Hunith's bed and murmuring softly to one another before Morgana reaches out to extinguish their little tallow dip. In the next room, the only other room of the little hovel, there is another candle still lit, where Merlin is sitting with his mother. Arthur thinks they might be doing something like shelling peas or soaking beans for tomorrow's meal, or some other mysterious thing. What does he know of kitchens, after all?

All is quiet save for the murmur of their two voices as they talk about this and that, and Arthur finds himself lulled almost to sleep by the peace of the moment. Certainly the girls are already asleep; Gwen snores, a cute little wheeze that Arthur had always found endearing in his future/former wife.

And then he hears Merlin say, softly, "Arthur knows, Mother. About me."

Hunith gasps, and there is a little clatter as she drops whatever she is holding. Beans into a bowl? Arthur can't place the sound. "Merlin!" she whispers, and Arthur can picture her grasping her son's hands for reassurance. Or perhaps he takes hers. "What have I told you about being careful?"

"I was. Mother, I swear it. I didn't tell him. I wanted to, but I didn't."

"Then how—"

"I don't know. I don't even know when he found out. He won't tell me."

"He won't—Merlin, what are we going to do?"

Arthur hears the shift and scuff of Merlin's shoes on the dirt floor. He turns over quietly, looking beneath the curtain that separates the two rooms, and sees Merlin's legs where he is kneeling at Hunith's feet. "Arthur swore to me that he'd keep me safe. He knows I've saved his life more than once already. He said he would do the same for me. That he'd protect me, no matter what."

"But the king…"

"I know. Still, it's something, isn't it?"

"Oh, Merlin." Hunith's voice sounds watery, and in the dark, Arthur winces at the thought of having caused her to weep. "At least he seems to be a man of his word."

"He is, Mother. If he promises a thing, Arthur will move heaven and earth to see that promise fulfilled. He promised me that I'd be safe with him."

It's so quiet that Arthur can hear the kiss Hunith places on her son's head. "If you trust him…"

"I do."

"Then I will do my best to trust him, too." She sighs, a shaky little thing, but her voice is steadier when she speaks again. "I've already told you, I see the way he needs you. And you need him."

"Two sides of the same coin, you said. And you're not the only one. Even if he is a prat sometimes."

Hunith gives a little laugh.

Merlin gets up and takes his seat across the table from her. He's silent for a long moment while Arthur listens to shelled peas land in their bowl. "It's good to know that I was born this way for a reason," he finally says. "That I'm not really some kind of freak." Arthur frowns. A freak? His Merlin, impudent and lazy, wise and loyal, never gave a hint of feeling like this before. But then, he'd kept a lot of secrets from Arthur, hadn't he? Perhaps this is another.

"Merlin of Ealdor," says Hunith fiercely, for all that her voice remains hushed. "What have I told you about that kind of talk?" Despite himself, Arthur smiles into his blankets.

"I'm sorry."

"As well you should be. You are my bright boy, the star of my eye, and if the old gods still exist, then they gave you a great gift. You had best believe they _did_ make you for a reason! You are no monster, young man, and you would do well to remember it."

"I know. I'm sorry." He takes a deep breath, and Arthur hears him let it out slowly. "Anyway, I was trying to say, if the old gods made me for a reason, then I think I was made for Arthur. The—" He lowers his voice even further. "There is a… person… someone who told me that we have a great destiny together, he and I. The same one who called us two sides of the same coin. I think maybe that's what all my… ability… is for." Even now, in the privacy of a talk with his mother, Merlin won't use the word _magic._ "To serve Arthur. To keep him safe."

Arthur is not at all certain he needs to be kept safe like some fragile damsel, but at the same time he sees Merlin's point. He was helpless against Sophia, and against the old crone disguised as Helen of Mora. Who knows how he would have fared against the afanc without Gaius and Merlin's aid? Uther's purge has weakened Camelot, Arthur sees now, has made her vulnerable to magical attack from without and within; what better defense could Arthur muster than to have a powerful sorcerer by his side?

He only hopes that that is not the only reason Merlin stays. It's certainly not the only reason Arthur wants him around.

* * *

 

The four of them go back to Camelot together, a two-day journey, and all that time Arthur can see Merlin practically vibrating with tension. Gwen is able to pull him from his thoughts with surprising ease, and Arthur does his best to tease and cajole a better mood out of his friend as well, but it's obvious to him that Merlin's entire _being_ is preoccupied with thoughts of his magic and the revealing of his secret. Arthur supposes he can't really blame him.

They halt within sight of he castle, far enough out that they can only barely hear the bustle of the lower town. "This is where we leave you," says Arthur. "Ladies: good luck."

Gwen looks a little nervous at the thought of facing Uther with a lie on her lips, but Morgana only looks smug. "Luck will have nothing to do with it," she says with a smile.

"What _did_ you tell him you were going to do?"

"I didn't."

Arthur tries not to gape at her, and is pretty sure he fails. "You vanished from the palace for _days_ and you don't think he's going to be apoplectic when you return?"

"I've spent nights in Gwen's home before," she says with a shrug. "Uther thinks it's inappropriate, but also believes that I must be entertaining myself by seeing how the quaint peasants live their lives."

"You're kidding."

"Wishing you had come up with a better story?"

"Not really. I just wouldn't have imagined Father would let you out of his sight for so long."

"Tom the Smith has an impeccable reputation," says Morgana. "As far as Uther is concerned, he's almost as good as a palace chaperon."

Arthur shakes his head. "If you say so." He has to bite his tongue to stop himself from calling her _sister_.

"Enjoy your hunt!"

"Good luck, Your Highness," says Gwen. "Good luck, Merlin."

"Thanks." They both reply at the same time, and trade glances as Morgana laughs at them and Gwen looks shocked on Merlin's behalf.

"When do you think you'll return?" she asks, perhaps hoping to keep Arthur from scolding his servant for speaking out of turn.

"I told Father that I wished to go hunting, alone. We'll be back once I've managed to find a suitable trophy."

"Enjoy that, then," says Morgana. "Merlin, I don't envy you putting up with him."

"I'll be fine," Merlin replies, but to Arthur's ear the cheer sounds just a little forced. He hopes Morgana doesn't notice; if she does, she doesn't give it away as they say their farewells.

* * *

 

Merlin is uncharacteristically silent as they make their way deeper into the forest once more. Well. For a given definition of "silent". He still has no clue how to move with anything like stealth along the paths, and has tripped three times already that Arthur knows of. Arthur is in front, and while he hasn't turned around to see it yet, he can practically feel the way Merlin's stare is boring into the back of his head.

Finally they reach a little rill, barely a pace wide and ankle deep, that splashes merrily over the rocks and under fallen trees. It's a place that Arthur has been coming to since he was a child exploring these woods for the first time; as far as he knows, no one else comes here. They'd left the paths ages ago, and part of the rill is surrounded by thorn bushes. Merlin has already cursed and started sucking on one of his fingers where he got it caught on a barb.

Arthur finds his favorite fallen tree, mossy-barked and the perfect height where it lies propped against a boulder, and sits. Merlin eyes him warily, but all Arthur does is gesture around the clearing; there are plenty of other places to sit.

"Are you going to tell me when you found out, now?" Merlin asks.

"I'll tell you. I don't know if you'll believe me."

"You said that before."

Arthur takes a deep breath. "You told me yourself… ten years from now."

"Ten years from—what? What are you talking about? I think I'd know if I'd told you something like that!"

"I don't know how it happened, Merlin, but hear me out. I was prince, then Crown Prince, then when my father died, I became king."

"You're talking like this has already happened."

"To me, it has. And no, I can't explain it. But I can tell you things you'll be able to prove."

"Like what?"

"I'll get to that in a minute. As I said, I became king. I ruled for about six years, and then there was a battle. I was… mortally wounded."

Despite Merlin's disbelief, he gives a little gasp and a twitch. Arthur glances up, then realizes his hand has crept up to cover the spot where he'd been stabbed. He drops it, but Merlin's eyes follow the gesture all the way down.

"In that battle, there was a powerful sorcerer, standing on a cliff behind me. Every time I thought I was going to be overrun, there was a bolt of lightning and the Saxons were scattered like dead leaves before a storm. There was a dragon, a white dragon, fighting for the enemy, and this sorcerer commanded it in a voice like a roar, and it obeyed him and flew away. But still, I was wounded. And you pulled me from the battlefield. Did everything you could to save me. And when I woke, you told me that you had been that sorcerer, defeating the Saxons and driving the dragon from the field."

"I-I… that's impossible."

"All of it is impossible, Merlin," says Arthur, his voice quiet, "and yet, it all happened. To me."

"But I can't bloody command dragons! And _lightning bolts_ … the hardest spell I know was the one to make the snakes come to life on Valiant's shield before he was ready, so that you could kill them before they closed in on you."

"Nevertheless, it was you. Perhaps you grow in power over the next ten years. I don't know."

"But… but this is!"

"I know."

Merlin jumped up and paced the little clearing, hands tearing at his hair. "You say all this happened, that you were wounded, but you—you're _here_ , it's _now_. None of those things has happened yet." He stops, then spins to point at Arthur. "You told me and Gaius that you'd had a _vision_ ," he says. "You were talking about all of this."

"It's one of the things I can say to prove to you that I'm telling the truth," says Arthur. "A woman will come to court, disguised as a knight, and challenge me. Her name is Morgause. She has magic. She is the one who showed me the spirit of my mother, and my mother is the one who told me about Uther's hypocrisy." He licks his lip, looking away. "I nearly killed him for it. You were the one to stop me."

Merlin grimaces, but looks reluctantly curious. "How did I do that?"

"You told me that it was all a lie; that Morgause hadn't really conjured my mother's spirit, only an illusion. You told me that Morgause just wanted Uther to die and was using me to do her dirty work for her."

Merlin winces again, hissing through his teeth, and starts pacing again. "You said you were wounded," he prompts, after a few trips around the clearing.

"You did everything you could to save me," says Arthur, "but I died. I remember dying, Merlin. You were with me at the end."

His friend swallows hard, as hard as he had when he realized Arthur knew about the magic. "And then?"

"And then I woke up, in my bed, ten years younger. You arrived in Camelot the very next day."

Merlin is shaking his head, a fast little movement over and over again. "No. No, this is—this is impossible."

"Oh, I know how it sounds, believe me." What are the odds that Merlin will decide Arthur is lying? Or worse, that the prince is mad and imagining things that are not there? What if he tells Uther? "But as I said, I can prove the truth of what I say."

"How?"

"I can tell you things that happened last time, that will probably happen again. Though I suppose they might not; I've been trying to change some things."

Merlin narrows his eyes, considering. "Like what?"

"Well, for starters, if we see a unicorn while we're out hunting, I'm not going to bloody kill it this time."

"You killed a unicorn?"

Arthur smiles, and can feel the way one corner of his mouth twists up in self-deprecation. "A word of advice: don't. All of Camelot fell under a curse because of me. I had to undergo trials to prove my worth before the keeper of the unicorns would lift the curse."

"I bet the king wasn't happy."

"The king refused to believe that the curse had anything to do with me, and likewise refused to bend in the face of what he saw as a magical threat to the kingdom."

Merlin grimaces. "That sounds like him."

"You have no idea."

His friend still looks wary, as if waiting for Arthur to jump up and laugh that this is all an elaborate joke, but he does finally sit on another fallen log. "When does all this happen?"

"The unicorn? Soon. I'm not sure exactly when, of course. It was years ago for me. But it's before Morgause appears. I think we have another year or so before we'll see her." Another year to try and save Morgana from her manipulations, if he can.

"I have a question."

"I imagine you have a lot. I still do."

"It's only… if you're ten years older than you look, if you've lived all this stuff already, then what do you need me for?"

Arthur sits up. "Merlin, the only reason I'm still alive is because of you. I literally have no way to know how many times you've saved my life in secret. And more important than that, the only reason I am the person I am—the _king_ I am—is because of your influence. You… I listen to you when I won't listen to anyone else. You're my closest, maybe my only friend. I told you once that we couldn't be friends because of our stations—"

"You've never said that—"

"—I did but it was before. And in any case, I was wrong. You have no idea how important you are to me."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter than usual chapter, but I'm not quite sure what I could add to it that wouldn't work just as well in another chapter. I hope you enjoy it.

The rest of their "hunt" is quiet and awkward, and Arthur sort of hates it. He knows that Merlin is mostly stuck processing the idea that Arthur not only knows about Merlin's magic but is more or less accepting of it, but he'd never expected to miss Merlin's incessant chatter quite so much. As it is, he feels almost as though Merlin is avoiding him.

Well. It could be the magic. It could just as likely be that Merlin doesn't believe Arthur's story and thinks the prince has gone mad, in which case Merlin really is avoiding him.

"I could tell you something else that happened that I'm hoping to prevent," Arthur says, breaking their long silence.

"Like what?" Merlin asks warily, and Arthur hides a grimace. That wariness was something he'd been hoping Merlin would get past by now.

"A sorcerer comes to town to kill the king—"

Merlin snorts.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything!"

"Just let me finish. This particular sorcerer goes to Gwen's father, Tom the Smith, and my father ends up executing him for aiding a sorcerer. Even though Tom didn't even know the man _was_ a sorcerer." Arthur sighs. "Tom was afraid, and escaped the dungeon, and my father decided that that was as good as an admission of guilt. So when the guards found him in the lower town, they killed him rather than bother bringing him back for trial."

Merlin is staring at Arthur now, nearly tripping over a tree root as they walk. "That's terrible."

"I know. I'm hoping to prevent it somehow, but I don't know what I could do other than talking to Tom. Maybe if he didn't break out of the dungeon… or if there were something I could say to my father to get him to listen, but the odds there aren't very good."

"Yeah, I don't know what to tell you," says Merlin. "Although… if it's a sorcerer, maybe I could stop him before things get that far?"

It's Arthur's turn to stop in his tracks. "You'd do that?"

Merlin snorts again. "I've been doing that since the day your father made me your manservant," he says, and Arthur blinks. Because of course that would be true.

"Why?"

Merlin chews on his lip for a bit before replying. "Well, it started with the dragon…" he tries cautiously.

Arthur's eyes go wide, and he's sure he looks like an idiot, but this is news he was not at all prepared for. "There's a dragon?"

"Your father keeps him chained under the castle. Below the lowest level of the dungeons, in a huge cavern. He called to me the first night I was here."

The Great Dragon. The dragon who razed Camelot was imprisoned beneath the castle. What was his father _thinking?_ "Called to you," he says aloud, his voice a bit strangled-sounding.

Merlin sighs. "He says we share a destiny. I'm probably not supposed to tell you, but… I'm tired of having to keep secrets."

Arthur wonders just how tired Merlin was after ten years of hiding _everything_ he'd ever done. "Go on."

"We're supposed to be two sides of the same coin," Merlin says. "That's what he says, anyway. I'm still not sure about that part, but you haven't been as much of a prat as I'd first thought. You believed me about Valiant's shield being enchanted."

"I know you're trustworthy," says Arthur. He thinks of Agravaine, and winces. "Some of my biggest mistakes have come from not listening to you when you really wanted me to understand something. You… I think being a servant, people don't notice you, so you're able to observe a lot about them. Or maybe it's because you're used to doing everything in secret, I don't know. But you've told me before whether or not I was right to trust a particular person, and every time I failed to listen to you, it came back to haunt me later."

"Huh." Merlin was looking at him with a mix of pleased surprise and… shyness? "That's, uh… that's good to know."

"You were saying, about the dragon?" Arthur prompts.

Merlin takes a deep breath. "You're supposed to be the greatest king Camelot has ever seen," he says, all in a rush. "You'll unite all of Albion, and bring peace to all the kingdoms. And magic will come back to the land."

Arthur feels his face heat at the implied compliment. "And I suppose the magic bit is your doing?"

"No." Merlin is shaking his head, and giving him that _look_ again, the one that says he thinks Arthur is a truly great man, even though they've known each other less than a year. "No, I'm just supposed to protect you."

"From what? I mean, besides the obvious."

"From anything, really," says Merlin, with an uncomfortable shrug. "Although, that druid child that we helped to escape the castle? The dragon says he's destined to kill you."

Destined. Arthur hates that word, hates the way the shudder ripples down his spine. "He's no enemy of ours. Do you think it will be different since we saved him?"

Merlin shakes his head. "I don't know. But I almost listened to the dragon. I almost didn't help him escape, but then you were flogged for protecting him, and Morgana and Gwen would have gotten caught, and Morgana might be safe but Gwen might have ended up executed right alongside the boy, and he was just a child anyway, and I couldn't do it. I just couldn't."

"I'm glad," says Arthur. "You did the right thing. And anyway, if there's a prophecy… I've read some of the stories of the Roman gods, and it seems like the harder those people tried to prevent a prophecy from coming true, the worse it was when it finally happened."

"I suppose you're right," Merlin says, but his shoulders have dropped away from his ears and his expression seems just a little more peaceful. "The dragon really doesn't like Morgana, either. I think she's supposed to turn against you or something."

Arthur nods. "She did. That's something else I'm hoping to prevent."

"Why would she turn against you?"

 _Because she thinks I agree with Uther_ , Arthur thinks. _Because she discovers she's my older sister and she wants the throne for herself. Because she has magic and is terrified of what we might do to her for it. Because she wants to destroy us before we destroy her._

"It's complicated," he says. Merlin looks skeptical again, which Arthur can't really blame him for. "Look, part of trying to prevent it is… I don't want you to think of her as an enemy when she hasn't done anything." _Yet,_ his brain supplies, and he ruthlessly quashes the thought. "And maybe never will. So I don't want to tell you about the things she did the first time."

He's not sure if Merlin really accepts this, but he does at least stop pushing, and Arthur is grateful. "You're really okay with my… with my having magic?" he asks instead. "I mean, you told me you accepted it, but you also said you were dying at the time. It's easy to forgive someone when you're not going to be around much longer to deal with all the… the implications and consequences."

It's a good point, but not one Arthur wants to think too much about. "Would you rather I stopped speaking to you and treated you with mistrust? Because I did that, too. By the time you told me about your magic, I'd been betrayed so many times by people I'd trusted and cared about. For days I thought that you were another one. It didn't matter that you were trying to save my life. I remember wondering why you didn't just kill me and have done with it."

"Arthur…"

"I got over it, obviously," says Arthur.

"Arthur." Merlin isn't even looking at him when Arthur turns, and he frowns in annoyance before following his servant's gaze.

There is a unicorn standing in the glade before them.

"You really weren't making things up." Merlin's voice is hushed.

"I really wasn't." The unicorn seems almost to glow in the green light of the forest, a brilliant, unearthly silver against the backdrop of tree trunks and fallen leaves. It lifts its head to look at them, seemingly unafraid, and Arthur finds himself stepping toward it, careful not to startle it away.

"What are you doing?"

"Well I'm not going to kill it," says Arthur. But if he could take a trophy, just a few hairs from its mane, perhaps… He'd never be able to show them to Uther, of course, but he wants to have something to remember this encounter by. Something he is finally doing right, this second time around.

The unicorn is close enough to touch, now, so Arthur does, reaching his hand toward its muzzle like he would with any skittish horse. The creature whuffs into his palm, taking his scent, and Arthur smiles. "That's it… look at you," he says softly.

"He's beautiful," says Merlin, from just over his shoulder. "I can't believe you would have wanted to kill something like this."

"Well, you know my father and magic. Here's a magical creature; obviously it's a threat to Camelot _somehow_."

"Oh, obviously." He can practically hear Merlin rolling his eyes. "He's so… pure."

"What do you mean?"

"He means, Arthur Pendragon, that my unicorn is not a trophy for the likes of a mortal man like yourself."

Arthur looks up to see the keeper of the unicorns standing just across the glade. What was his name, again? "Anhora, isn't it?" he asks.

The old man had seemed imperturbable the first time they'd crossed paths, but now he raises his eyebrows in mild surprise. "Indeed. There are not many in Camelot who remember my name, young prince." Arthur can't exactly tell the man that they'd met before, but Anhora squints at him, gripping his staff with both hands as he leans on it. "Or should I say, 'young king'?"

Arthur's heart skips a beat, banging against his ribs. "You know what's happened to me."

"I do not. I am the keeper of the unicorns, and such things are beyond my purview. But I can see that you are older than you appear, and there is… an echo, perhaps, of another life about you. Of choices already made, paths already walked, which you are attempting to tread anew."

"If you know that, surely you know more than I do."

"No. I can only see what is, not what has happened to bring you here. But there is the feel of the Goddess's hand upon you, Arthur Pendragon. Perhaps you should speak with those who are Her Voice in this world."

"I don't understand."

In a blink, Anhora is no longer standing where he was, but is instead right next to Arthur. He hears Merlin stumble back a step in surprise, and only keeps himself from doing the same thanks to years of training. The old man hands Arthur a coin, one whose symbols are foreign yet familiar. The memory comes back to Arthur immediately. "The Disir," he realizes.

"Who is that?" Merlin asks.

"They," corrects Arthur. "Three women. Supposedly, the voice of the Triple Goddess of the Old Religion."

"I tested you in your former life, and found you pure of heart," says Anhora. "But where I tested you, the Disir judged you. What did they find?"

Arthur turns away, lips thinned in annoyance. "They wanted me to become an obedient servant of the Old Religion. To allow sorcery back into Camelot, and allow one of—" Arthur nearly chokes, the memory so recent. "—he was one of my most trusted knights, and he was wounded saving my life. By the Disir. The wound was poisoned, and the Disir implied that they would only save him if I allowed magic back into Camelot." He swallows heavily. "And when I said no, I thought for certain that I was going to come home and see one of my brightest young knights dead. But Mordred lived anyway. I thought I had somehow earned their favor or their forgiveness. Only later, he betrayed me. Yet another person I trusted… Mordred was the one who killed me, Merlin."

Merlin's eyes are wide and his face pale. "So giving you what you wanted was your punishment for defying them," he says, and Arthur knows it is true. "But… if they _hadn't_ given you what you wanted, you would have thought that you didn't have to give them what _they_ wanted. That they'd broken their word."

Arthur nods, and pinches the bridge of his nose. "And I am expected to go back to them? And what, humiliate myself? Grovel at their feet?"

Anhora is in a completely different spot in the glade when he speaks. "You will do as you please," he says, "but consider that their judgment is ordinarily final, yet here you are, walking the path of your life once more when it should have been ended, ten years from now. Perhaps the Goddess has more in mind for you than you realize."

"I will be no one's pawn!"

"We are all pawns of the gods, young king." Anhora's voice holds no trace of mockery or condescension. If anything, he seems tired and sad. "A man may only avoid his doom by appeasing them."

Arthur remembers Gaius saying much the same thing, and looks away.

When he looks up again, Anhora and the unicorn are both gone.

"What was that?" asks Merlin breathlessly.

"Destiny," says Arthur bitterly, and turns to take them home.

* * *

 

"Are destiny and fate the same thing?" Merlin asks, after they've caught several rabbits and a couple of pheasant. He's been quiet all day, and for the most part Arthur has appreciated it. The silence between them no longer feels so strained and awkward, as it had before they'd found the unicorn. Arthur suppresses a laugh; he is to be a puppet of the gods, but at least Merlin no longer thinks he's mad.

"You once told me they were different," he replies, watching as Merlin cocks an eyebrow at him. "I've no idea when you became so wise."

"Surely it hasn't happened yet," Merlin offers with a little smile.

Arthur only smiles back, sure of this if nothing else. "Give it time."

Merlin huffs, shaking his head. "I'm still not sure how you can need me when you're ten years older than I am."

"Maybe I need you to remind me what things were like before everything turned ugly," says Arthur. "Before…" Before Morgana turned against them. Before Uther died. Before Agravaine plotted to overthrow him. Before he was betrayed by those he loved, again and again, each betrayal heartbreaking in its own right, piled one on top of another. Before Arthur was killed by yet another person he'd trusted. "Before everything that hasn't happened yet."

"You really think you can prevent it from happening?" Merlin asks.

"Well, I've already talked to you about your magic ten years early. I've avoided slaughtering the unicorn and plunging all of Camelot into misery and starvation. Last time, it was my father who defeated the wraith of Tristan du Bois instead of me." He considered, and sighed. "I've defied my father and been flogged for it. I've declared to him that I won't participate in the slaughter of innocent people anymore, just because they have magic. It's a start."

"I suppose so, sire." Merlin looks dubious, and Arthur can't really blame him.


	9. Chapter 9

Not killing the unicorn gives Arthur and Merlin nearly a month where nothing of significance seems to happen to the kingdom. The harvest comes in on schedule, and there are no labyrinths to traverse or grain thieves to judge Arthur's purity of heart.

("You drank poison for me?" Merlin had asked, when Arthur told him the story.

"You drank it for me first," Arthur had replied. "Seemed only fair." Merlin had stared at him until Arthur had grown uncomfortable. "Anyway, it turned out to only be a sleeping draught."

"But you didn't know that at the time! Arthur, you could have been killed!"

"It was the price he gave for me to save Camelot," Arthur had said. "And I wasn't about to sacrifice you for my sins.")

So. Camelot is quiet. It's a bit of a relief, but not much of one, not when the coin of the Disir weighs heavy in Arthur's hand. He takes it out and studies it each night, and finally goes to Gaius's chambers after about a week of pondering. The old physician lets him in and studies him intently; no doubt Merlin has told him everything by now, or at least told him the part where Arthur knows about Merlin's magic and hasn't turned him over to Uther's tender mercies.

"Do you know how to read this?" he asks, passing the coin to Gaius. "The markings are unfamiliar to me."

Gaius sits at his worktable and pulls a nearby candle closer. He turns the coin over and holds it up to the light, squinting as he reads. "This is a token from the Disir," he says. "I would be more astonished if Merlin hadn't told me you'd met one of their emissaries."

"Why astonished?"

"Well, sire, until you and Merlin encountered him, I would have said that the Disir no longer existed. They are, or were, powerful women of the Old Religion. I would have thought them long gone by now."

Arthur nods, and glances over to where Merlin sits, a half-tied bundle of herbs forgotten in his hands. He is staring at Arthur and Gaius, intent on every word. "Do you know what it says, though?" Arthur asks.

"Let me see." The physician gets up, pulls a dusty volume down from a high shelf, and pages through it slowly; Arthur tries not to fidget with impatience while he searches. "Ah. Here we are," says Gaius. "I didn't want to be wrong, but it seems my memory still serves. This rune is called 'Gebo,' and it means 'gift'." Gaius runs his finger down the page, reading aloud. " _Gifts, both in the sense of sacrifice and of generosity, indicating balance. All matters in relation to exchanges, including contracts, personal relationships, and partnerships._ "

"That seems promising," says Merlin, and Arthur can't help but agree.

"Well, yes, but each rune may have an opposite meaning as well, depending on various factors. Gebo in opposition may mean _greed, loneliness, dependence, or over-sacrifice. Obligation, toll, privation, or bribery."_

"That… sounds a lot less promising," says Merlin glumly.

"Now, this is odd," says Gaius. He turns the coin over and rubs his fingers over a second rune, etched deeply into the metal. "I've only ever heard of a judgment from the Disir having one rune upon it, but here is another."

"And what does it say?" asks Arthur.

"This one is called 'Jera', which means 'year' or 'harvest'," says Gaius. " _The results of earlier efforts are realized. A time of peace and happiness, fruitful season. It can break through stagnancy. Hopes and expectations of peace and prosperity. The promise of success earned. Everything changes in its own time."_

"And the opposition meaning?"

 _"Sudden setback or reversals,"_ reads Gaius. _"A major change, repetition, bad timing, poverty, conflict."_

"So in other words, this judgment could be either very good or very bad," says Arthur in disgust.

"The only way to truly find out, I'm afraid, would be to travel to the Disir and ask them personally. But I would advise you to be very careful, sire, if you chose such a path. The Disir are powerful, and reside in a sacred place that makes them even more so. It would not do to go to them in anger or arrogance, demanding answers."

"I know," says Arthur, remembering the last time he'd gone there. Merlin—this Merlin—had been right. If he'd given them what they'd asked, they would likely have allowed Mordred to die, convincing Arthur that the Old Religion was not to be trusted. Why, then, would they have set up such an impossible-to-follow edict? And what had the Merlin of then known, that he had advised Arthur against allowing magic back into Camelot? "I know," he says again, "but there's nothing for it. If I am to be destiny's pawn, then I would at least prefer to know what that destiny is meant to be."

Merlin coughs, and when Arthur looks over, he is blushing. "About that," he says.

* * *

 

"And you get past the guards like this every time?" Arthur whispers.

"Shh."

"It's their _job_ to hear things, Merlin, and it's not like they're going to arrest _me."_

"No, but they could easily arrest _me_ , and I'd rather not have to explain to your father just what I was doing talking to the Great Bloody Dragon," says Merlin. "I'd like to keep my head _attached_ to my body, if it's all the same to you." Arthur rolls his eyes, but can't exactly argue the point.

"I still can't believe the great beast actually talks," he says instead.

"Oh, he talks. It's getting a straight answer out of him that is the tricky part." Merlin sounds deeply put out by this. Arthur would think it was funny if he weren't on his way to try and get a straight answer out of the dragon himself.

"And you trust him?"

"I—yeah," says Merlin, although from the sound of his voice, it's only just now occurred to him that maybe he shouldn't. "Yeah, he's helped me save your life more than once."

"But?"

Merlin sighs, and stops in the darkened corridor, far below the castle. "But he also told me I should let the little Druid boy be killed. Supposedly he grows up and is destined to kill you."

There's that word, _destiny_ , again. It leaves a bad taste in Arthur's mouth.

Merlin takes an unlit torch from a wall sconce; after a wary glance in Arthur's direction, he says a single word in the language of magic. His eyes flash gold, like a sorcerer's, and the torch springs to life.

 _Idiot,_ Arthur scolds himself. _Of course his eyes look like a sorcerer's; he bloody is one._

"Handy," he says aloud. Merlin grins in relief.

Arthur may have died knowing Merlin had magic, but he apparently hadn't quite come to terms with that knowledge as much as he'd thought he had. He's not sure he'll ever get used to it.

"Almost there," says Merlin, and then he's leading them through a gap in the wall barely wide enough to squeeze through, and out onto a ledge. Arthur can't really see past the bounds of the torch, but the air feels much less close and he can hear the drip of water, somewhere far off. This cavern must be enormous.

"Hello?" calls Merlin, and his voice echoes and rebounds from the stone around them.

There is a rushing sound and the rattle of a chain, then a sudden gust, and the dragon—an enormous, living _dragon_ —drops down from above and lands with a mighty stroke of its wings. The beast may be chained and unable to escape this cavern, but up close, it's still terrifying. For a moment, all Arthur can see are its serrated teeth and the baleful gleam in its golden eye.

"You've brought me a visitor, young warlock," it says. Its voice is low and husky, befitting a creature that breathes smoke and fire, and it reverberates inside Arthur's head. It is a creature of magic; perhaps it speaks with more than only a physical voice. The dragon heaves a great breath. "Ahh… the young Pendragon." It leans in close, and it is all Arthur can do not to back away; Merlin, however, seems completely unafraid. The dragon's eye narrows. "Why?"

"Because the time for keeping secrets is over," says Merlin. "You want me to fulfill my destiny and protect Arthur; I can do that far better if I don't have to hide from him."

"You trust him enough not to run to Uther the moment you displease him?" The name _Uther_ practically slithers from the dragon's lips, it's so full of bitter venom.

"Merlin's secret is safe with me," says Arthur; he gulps when that gleaming eye turns upon him. After a moment, it goes wide, and the dragon rears his head back in visible surprise.

"You are not the young prince whom Merlin described to me," he says. "Your destiny lies heavy upon you, and close at hand."

"The keeper of the unicorns called him 'young king'," Merlin supplies helpfully.

"Yes, so I see," says the dragon. "You carry the weight of years that you have not yet lived, and the ending to your path has been changed." He shifts his great bulk upon the stone, seeming to settle in for a long conversation. "Tell me why you have come."

"The Disir want me to bring magic back to the land," says Arthur. "Supposedly I have this great destiny, as you have already mentioned. I want to know what that destiny is. I will be no one's pawn, not even the gods'."

"We are all captive to the whims of fate, young king," says the dragon. He moves his shackled leg, the chain dragging noisily across the stone, as if to emphasize his point. "Not even you can escape your destiny."

"I've heard too many stories of people trying to avert dire prophecy, who end up making things worse," says Arthur. "Or who don't know their fate and end up falling prey to it like rabbits to a wolf. I want to know what it is I'm supposed to do, or be."

"You would flow with the path of fate, like a leaf in the river? You would not attempt to fight the currents of destiny?"

"I would know what is expected of me!"

The dragon draws his head back, taking a deep breath. For a moment, Arthur is afraid that he is about to be roasted. "You are the Once and Future King, Arthur Pendragon. You will unite all of Albion as High King, ushering in a period of peace and prosperity for all. And yes, it is prophesied that you will free magic and allow it to return to the land." He leans in close, and Arthur can feel the heat of his breath. "You will free _me_."

Not bloody likely. Arthur narrows his eyes. "In my previous life, in that path that you say I've already walked, you escaped this dungeon and you burned half of Camelot. Who is to say you wouldn't do it again?"

"A pity your father murdered the dragonlords," says the great beast with a sneer, and Arthur hides a smile. Either the dragon doesn't know everything, or he's trying to bait Arthur into revealing more of what he knows.

"Tell me more of this prophecy," he says instead.

"And why would I do that?"

"You've already revealed pieces of it to Merlin, so you cannot pretend it is a great secret. Or have you only revealed enough to allow him to be manipulated into doing your bidding?" Merlin startles next to him; he's so young, and good-hearted, it is clear to Arthur that he has never thought to question the persona of the "wise old dragon", nor to wonder what its motives may be. The difference that ten years can make is astounding.

For a moment, Arthur misses his Merlin fiercely, but he forces the feeling away. It isn't fair to this younger Merlin to hold his other self against him.

The cagey old reptile narrows his eyes again, clearly not having expected Arthur to be able to see his riddling for the evasiveness that it really is. "You are destined to die at the hands of the druid boy, Mordred," he says finally. "And you must not trust the witch, Morgana."

"I'll thank you not to refer to my sister in such terms," says Arthur, and both the dragon and Merlin look surprised. So. The dragon truly doesn't know everything. "It would not surprise me to learn that telling Merlin to mistrust her is what led to her turning her back on us in the first place. If there was no one here who trusted her, she would have no reason to trust us in turn."

"Perhaps," allows the dragon. "But is trusting her a risk you are willing to take?"

"I have already seen what the other path led to," says Arthur. He hides a shudder as Morgana's face, pale and astonished in death, hovers in his mind's eye. "I would prefer her to be at my side, not stabbing me in the back."

"She is treacherous."

"You've never even met her. Your perception of her is whatever you choose it to be."

"I see you are as impetuous and headstrong as your father," says the dragon, and it's Arthur's turn to draw himself up stiffly. "Even though you are older than you appear, still you act as the foolish, arrogant boy you once were."

"I act as the king I will be again, when I tell you that I will rule this land as I choose, and not as you would decree it." Arthur shakes his head. "Come on, Merlin. We're done here."

"Don't be so certain," says the dragon, but Arthur turns his back.

"Arthur, are you sure? Maybe we should—"

"He hasn't told me anything I didn't already know," says Arthur, just to hear the overgrown lizard snarl. He looks back over his shoulder. "When I am king, I may free you. My father wrongs you by keeping you here. But the people of Camelot do not deserve your vengeance, and I will not let you out of this cavern without some assurance that they will be safe from your wrath."

That seems to settle the dragon, as he realizes just who it is he is talking to, and just what power Arthur will one day wield. Just what power he wields now. "And Merlin?"

Arthur shrugs. "May visit you, if he wishes. If I trusted you to teach him about his magic, I'd encourage it. But as it is, I think you only want to use him to further your own ends."

"Restoring magic to Camelot would benefit us both."

"That remains to be seen."

* * *

 

"Do you really think the dragon was just using me?" asks Merlin, once they are back in Arthur's chambers.

"I think he has his own agenda, and you're the person most likely to give him what he wants. You're probably his only visitor, after all." Who knows? Perhaps the prophecy he speaks of doesn't even exist, except as a way to further his own ends. It is said that dragons live for centuries; the one shackled beneath the castle could afford to wait for Uther to die, and if the king who replaces him is more amenable to magic thanks to Merlin's guidance…

Merlin takes that in in silence for a few moments, puttering around Arthur's room, picking things up and setting them down again. He's not tidying so much as keeping his hands busy while he thinks, Arthur suspects. "What will you do now?" he asks finally.

"Now, I suppose it is time to prepare for a journey," he says with a sigh. "Just the two of us."

"We're going to the Disir?"

"Yes. I suspect they will be less circumspect than the dragon."

"Almost anyone would be," admits Merlin, and Arthur smiles.

"If they want to judge me, they'll have to tell me what their judgment is and why," Arthur reasons. "If they want me to do something for them, they'll have to tell me what it is."

"That makes sense," says Merlin. "Only…"

"What is it?"

"What if your destiny doesn't include me anymore?"

Arthur looks up from his dinner and stares at Merlin. "You can't be serious."

"Well, I just—"

"No," says Arthur. "They could tell me that you are destined to kill me yourself and I still would not turn my back on you. You _held me as I died_ , Merlin. You've been more loyal than I ever deserved, and braver than any knight. Whether you're needed to make me a great king or not is irrelevant. You are my friend and I will not forsake you, not even for these Disir."

The tips of Merlin's ears are red, but he won't meet Arthur's gaze as he says, "But I haven't done any of those things yet. That was all… older me."

"That was all _you_ , Merlin, with ten years' more experience and opportunity to do those things. And anyway. Valiant was you, wasn't it? Saving me from that witch the first week you came here, that was you. Drinking _poison_ for me, that was you—"

"All right, all right, stop! Stop."

"You still are that same person, Merlin. Just because we're not quite the same age anymore doesn't change that."

Now Merlin looks up at him through his lashes, still blushing furiously, but his eyes are shining. "Thank you, Arthur."

* * *

 

There's just one thing left for Arthur to do before he leaves.

As it turns out, saving the life of Tom the Smith is a simple thing. Arthur merely goes to him with a pouch full of silver and gold, and warns him. "We have reason to believe that a sorcerer is plotting to overthrow the king," he says. "Tauren, he calls himself. You're the best smith in the city; it's possible he will come to you for help."

"If he is a sorcerer, what need would he have of weapons?" asks Tom sensibly.

"I admit I'm not certain; the ways of sorcerers are generally strange to me. But I've heard that some of them can turn lead into gold, and he would need a smith to melt the lead, would he not?"

"I… suppose so, sire."

"At any rate, if he does come… do business with him as you ordinarily would—don't call attention to him or make him suspicious—but then come to me. We'll take care of the problem." He passes the pouch to the smith, who hefts it in one hand and raises an eyebrow. "It's possible there will be a fight or that the sorcerer would cause trouble for you. This is for the loss of any custom you might incur, or any damages that might result." And to keep him from being tempted to take Tauren's gold, but there is no need for either of them to acknowledge that.

"Thank you, sire,"says Tom, and Arthur takes his leave.

From there, he goes to his father, and when he "learns" of the plot by Tauren, informs Uther that he has reason to believe the sorcerer will go to Tom the Smith, who has agreed to inform them if any suspicious person should request his services. This puts the notion into Uther's ear that Tom is colluding with them, and not with the sorcerer.

Tauren may still escape, but Tom will not be implicated. Gwen will not be reduced to a grieving shell of a woman; Morgana will not spend a week in the dungeons for railing against the king.

It's another start.


	10. Chapter 10

Arthur gains permission from Uther to go on another hunt, and with a little persuading, manages to convince him not to make Arthur bring along every nobleman's son from here to Gedref. Uther and Morgana are still not on speaking terms, and it doesn't take much to imply that Arthur would like to get out from under the weight of the tension between the two of them for a little while. It's not too far from the truth, after all.

"Be wary, Arthur," says Uther. "I'd prefer you brought along at least a minimal guard, with this Tauren on the loose."

"I understand, Father, but I can take care of myself. I'm not afraid of a lone sorcerer." He would have Merlin with him to deal with any magic that came up, though of course he couldn't say anything about that if he wanted Merlin to survive. "Besides, the sorcerer is more likely to be attracted to a group of knights than he would to simply a pair of nondescript travelers."

"Yes, I see your point. Very well, but be careful. You'll not be gone too long, I trust?"

"I don't expect to be, no." But the Disir are a couple of days' travel away in the White Mountains, so Arthur comes up with an excuse about hearing reports of a magnificent stag there. "I don't expect I'll be able to find it right away, and it's possible that the rumors are exaggerated, but I'll do my best to bring home a worthy trophy, Father."

"Of course."

* * *

 

Fortunately, they see no sign of the sorcerer, nor anyone else beyond a few drovers and their cattle, on the way to the White Mountains. "You really think they'll be able to help you?" asks Merlin. "Only, from what you said, they didn't help you very much at all the first time."

"Shut up, Merlin." He's been trying not to think of that part.

"So you _are_ worried."

Arthur sighs. "More than I care to admit." If they had killed Mordred, or at least allowed him to die, then he would have thought them untrustworthy and refused to uphold his end of the bargain. Why should he, if they weren't going to give him what he'd asked for, what they'd promised themselves? It doesn't make sense.

They travel a little farther in silence, before finding a path that Arthur thinks he recognizes. They've only gone down it a little way before Merlin starts to lag behind.

"Oh," he says, softly, awed.

"What is it?"

"We must be getting close."

Arthur can feel his brow furrow as he turns and frowns at his friend. "How can you tell?"

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it?"

And just like that, Arthur remembers a conversation he had with his Merlin, the first time he'd come here. "Pretend it isn't."

Merlin blinks at him, pulled out of whatever reverie the place has drawn him into. "Don't you feel it?"

"I'm afraid I don't have that gift," he says, and for the first time thinks he might actually regret that.

"Oh." Merlin studies him for only a second, before pulling his gaze away to stare around the forest where they walk. "Everything just feels so full of _life_ ," he says. "Like it's… like it's more than just itself. Each leaf, each tree…"

"Each insect?"

Merlin grins at him. "Yeah. I feel like… like if I were to sit and listen, I could hear it all. The entire forest, just breathing with me."

Arthur tries to imagine it, but comes up short. He's always lived in his own body, rather than in his head like the scholars always seem to. It's hard to grasp the idea of belonging to a greater whole than the one he already encompasses, just as a self. "Maybe when we get there, you can sit and listen while I talk to them," he offers.

Merlin smiles, grateful, but shakes his head. "No. I want to be there to hear what they have to say, too. Just in case. That way if one of us forgets something, the other is more likely to remember."

"Fair enough. But don't forget, I offered, and you turned me down. I'm very generous that way."

Merlin chuckles. "Of course, sire."

It isn't long before they reach the grotto that Arthur remembers. There are ribbons and tokens hanging from the tree branches, and for a moment Arthur wonders if he should have brought something of his own to leave behind. He's not really a follower of the Old Religion, though; would it have been seen as hypocritical if he had? False flattery? He isn't sure.

"Don't touch anything," he warns Merlin. "It's disrespectful."

"I can tell," says Merlin. He's still looking about as if he sees things that Arthur can't. For all Arthur knows, maybe that's true.

"Welcome, Arthur Pendragon," says a voice from within the cave. He goes still, resisting the urge to reach for his sword; they hadn't sounded nearly so warm and inviting the first time he'd come here. Or maybe it's his imagination that they're being warm at all.

"You answer our summons," says someone else. He hasn't forgotten the way the three of them speak, as if they are one person with three mouths. It was eerie then, and it's eerie now.

"Come in, and bring your servant. We have a gift for you both."

Arthur and Merlin share a glance, then Merlin shrugs. He seems a little nervous, to Arthur's eye, but not convinced that there is anything here to harm them. Of course, Arthur remembers differently from his encounter with them, but that was then and this seems to be an entirely different life.

"You know why I have come," he says, ducking beneath a token hanging over the entrance to the little cave.

"Of course," says one of the three, as they come into sight.

"After all, we summoned you."

"Will you hear our judgment?"

Arthur tries to remind himself of what Merlin had told him the first time he'd lived this; that their judgment meant that he was worthy of _being_ judged, that they thought he was a man who might listen. Unlike Uther, who would only have ignored their words and then ordered their slaughter.

"I will," he says.

"And your companion."

"He is no servant."

"Your dearest friend."

"In this life and your previous path."

"Let him come forward, too," they say in unison.

Merlin starts to take a step forward, but then he stumbles to a halt. Drawing himself up, he sways on his feet.

"Merlin?" Arthur is at his side in an instant, grasping his arm tightly.

"Arthur," he mumbles, sounding half asleep all of a sudden. "Arthur, it's—" There is a flicker of gold in his irises as he lifts his head, then his eyes roll back and he collapses. Arthur barely manages to catch him in time, keeping him from going to the ground in a heap.

"Merlin!" Carefully, he lowers Merlin down, cradling his head in one gloved hand. There are no signs of any wounds on him, but Arthur checks the other mans' pulse at his throat anyway, just to be sure. It is steady and strong, but Arthur is not reassured.

"He will be well," says one of the women.

Arthur glares up at them from his knees, _itching_ to draw his blade. "What did you do to him?"

"We have given you a gift, Arthur Pendragon," one of them replies. Arthur can't even keep track of which one is speaking.

"You will need it…"

"…in the times to come."

"Will you hear our judgment?" Their voices in unison reverberate off the cavern walls and pound into Arthur's head.

"I came here freely," he manages between gritted teeth. "There was no need to harm my manservant."

"Your friend."

"We did not harm him."

"Though he may say we have punished him."

"Or rewarded him."

"Perhaps we have done both." For the first time, one of them sounds bemused, as if merely speaking rather than pronouncing a man's doom.

"It was the will of the Goddess," intones another, and the moment passes.

"And was it the will of your Goddess to bring me back in time ten years, after I died?" asks Arthur.

"It was." The one who spoke holds out her hand. "Your judgment. The token," she adds, when Arthur merely looks up at her in confusion.

He pulls it from his pouch and passes it to her; a corner of his mind notes that her skin is smooth and dry, an ordinary woman's hand, as if he'd been expecting it to be something different.

"Gebo," she says.

"And Jera," says another.

"The Gift and the Harvest."

"Two runes, for two separate paths."

"Two runes, for two men."

"Two men who are two sides of one coin."

Arthur remembers hearing that before. He glances down at Merlin again, where the other man lies apparently sleeping.

"You and Merlin have sacrificed much, for your kingdom."

"For each other."

"Yet you failed to bring about the prophesied Golden Age of Albion."

"Your failings were made from pride."

"His were made from love."

"Both of you are selfish."

"And selfless."

"Blind in some ways…"

"…and wise in others."

Arthur takes a deep breath, praying for patience. "I don't understand."

"Your advisor gave you the meanings of these runes," scoffs one of the women.

"Gebo," says another. "Sacrifice, generosity, balance, partnerships."

"But Merlin gave up too much: he depended too much upon you, and his price was over-sacrifice, loneliness, privation."

"He will tell you when he wakes just what he was forced to give up for your sake."

"Make him tell you," says the third woman, softly. She is the one who sounds least like an implacable judge and the most like a mere human.

"And you, Arthur, your rune was Jera."

"Your failings and pride brought about conflict, repetition, and the fall of Camelot before its time."

"Always repetition, Arthur. Stagnancy. Always your father's son."

"Always the betrayal from those whom you loved."

"Those closest to you."

"But that is Jera's opposition. It is meant to represent the fruits of one's good labor."

"And you have always labored for Camelot."

"For peace, rather than victory."

"It is time for one last repetition, Arthur."

"One last chance."

"And this time Jera will bring great change, if you are wise."

"If you are diligent."

"If you are respectful of magic and the Old Religion."

Arthur presses his lips together, and finally draws himself to his feet. He is careful to put himself between the three women and Merlin. "And that is what you want. For me to be magic's pawn? To put Camelot at the mercy of malicious sorcery once more? My father has told me of the chaos that reigned before the Purge."

"And you know that your father lies."

"You know why he really began to slaughter our kind."

"You know what happened to your mother."

Arthur's breath is sharp in his throat. "Do not speak of my mother."

"Very well," says one. "You know that Morgana is your sister."

"Would you have her as your enemy once again?"

"No," Arthur sighs. "Never. I loved her even when she died." But there had only been relief in his heart when Merlin had shoved the sword through her breast.

"Then harvest the fruits of your good work, Arthur Pendragon," says the third woman.

"Break through stagnancy."

"Earn your success."

"A time of peace and happiness."

"A fruitful season."

"Let everything change in its own proper time."

"Receive your gift, now, and go."

"Try again, Arthur Pendragon, and this time, succeed."

"Respect magic, respect the Old Religion…"

"…honor the Goddess…"

"…and Her hand will bless you in all your works."

The three turn their backs as if they are about to leave, but Arthur holds up a hand. "Wait," he says, ignoring the imploring note in his voice. "I have one last question."

"Mordred was destined to kill you," says one of the women.

"When you executed his lover, the girl, Kara, his love for you turned to hate."

"If you had honored the Goddess, she would have lived."

Arthur shakes his head. "But wouldn't Mordred have died? You gave him back to me despite my saying that I could not allow magic in Camelot."

"You followed Merlin's advice," says the third woman.

"He was selfish," says the second, and the first nods her head.

The third continues. "He loved you, and knew Mordred's fate. He thought that if you allowed magic to flourish, then Mordred would live and you would die."

Arthur nods and takes a tentative step forward. "That is what I don't understand," he says. "If I had given you what you wanted, Mordred would have died anyway. I would have thought that you had refused to uphold your end of the bargain."

"Not so," they say in unison.

"A life for a life. Mordred lived, and you died, for Merlin's selfishness and your own pride."

"Selfishness born of love, but selfishness nonetheless."

"A life for a life. Had you listened to us, Kara would have taken ill, and Mordred would have lived in her place."

"He would have mourned, but had no reason to betray you."

"You would have murdered an innocent woman?"

"Not we," says one of the women. "The will of the Goddess. No spell of ours would have touched her."

"We are judges…"

"…the voice of the Triple Goddess…"

"…but we are not Her executioners."

"We speak only of what will be."

"What must be."

"We do not influence fate."

"We merely pronounce it."

"Kara was ill before she came to Camelot," explains the third woman. "Around the same time that Mordred was injured."

"Whether she lives or dies is up to those who tend her, and her own strength, and the will of the Goddess."

"But she will not be moved to act against Camelot if Camelot does not persecute her kind."

"You will not kill her, for you will not have need."

"Mordred will not be betrayed, and thus will have no reason to betray you."

The three women fall silent, and Arthur hears Merlin stir on the ground behind him.

"I understand," he says finally, and the women nod.

"What is your choice, then?" asks the third woman.

"Before, I did not feel that Camelot would survive if I allowed magic back into the kingdom. I did not act out of disrespect to your Goddess, but out of care for my kingdom."

"And now?"

"Now… now my sister and my dearest friend are magic, and I cannot be lenient with them while persecuting the rest of their kind. I do not know _how,_ precisely, I will bring magic back to the land, nor if I will succeed. But I will at least try."

The women are still, but Arthur thinks the one on the end, the third one, smiles under her hood.

"Take your gift, Arthur Pendragon," says one.

"Realize your harvest," says another.

"Go with the blessing of the Goddess…"

"…so long as you work Her will," they finish in unison. The sound reverberates through the cavern once more, and rattles in Arthur's head. He closes his eyes against it, and shakes his head to clear it.

When he opens his eyes again, the women are gone.

* * *

 

It seems wrong to stay in the cave where the three women live and make their pronouncements; Arthur may not know much about the Old Religion, but he at least knows how to respect his hosts. So he lifts Merlin to his shoulder, feeling the other man's dead weight as his arms dangle down Arthur's back, and steps outside to look for the clearing he remembers from his first visit here. It doesn't take much to set up their camp, and Arthur is left with time to think.

Is he really prepared to bring magic back to Camelot? How will the council of nobles take it? How will the people survive it?

What did they do to Merlin? What is this "gift" supposed to be that they've given Arthur, and how does it involve rendering Merlin unconscious? How could their gift be seen as both a reward and a punishment?

As if in response to Arthur's thoughts, Merlin stirs again, muttering under his breath.

"Merlin?" Arthur kneels down by his friend's side, and sees a fretful expression on his face, though his eyes are still closed.

"Arthur," he says softly. The sound is full of such grief that Arthur isn't sure how to process it, even less so when he sees the tear trickling down from the corner of his friend's eye. "Arthur…"

"I'm here, Merlin," he says, at a loss for what else to do. He grips the other man's shoulder, but it isn't enough to wake him. "I'm here. It's all right."

Though he doesn't wake, Merlin subsides, even if he still does not appear to be resting very deeply judging by the furrow between his eyebrows. God, he looks so very young like this.

Arthur watches him for a little while longer before realizing he must look like a love-struck girl. Merlin seems unlikely to worsen if the prince turns his back, and dark will be coming soon enough. It seems like a perfectly reasonable thing to leave him there and go to look for firewood for later. He removes his cloak, bundles it around Merlin just in case, and stands.

He's gone long enough to collect a sizable bundle of sticks when he hears Merlin's scream.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I left you all with a wicked cliffhanger for the previous chapter, and decided it would be kind if I posted the next update quickly rather than make you wait forever. I hope you find this one satisfying.
> 
>  **Warning: this chapter makes reference to an off- screen suicide attempt.** I hope I was not too graphic, but if such things are hard for you to face for whatever reason, please approach this chapter with caution.

The wood he's carrying clatters to the ground as Arthur tears back toward the clearing. Merlin isn't screaming anymore, but Arthur can hear a moaning wail of what sounds like pure agony, and he can only imagine what must have happened to cause Merlin such pain. Would bandits dare to trespass on this supposedly sacred ground? Had the Disir themselves returned to punish Merlin once Arthur's back was turned?

He bursts into the clearing only to find it empty; their belongings are undisturbed and Merlin is on his knees, bent nearly double with the force of his… weeping?

"Merlin?"

The other man jolts as if he were kicked, spinning in place to stare at Arthur wide-eyed. Tears are running down his face in a display that Arthur has never seen from him before.

"Merlin, what's—"

Merlin scrambles to his feet, all knees and elbows, and launches himself at Arthur; he looks wild and half-crazed as he grabs the front of Arthur's tunic. Arthur barely manages to get his blade out of the way in time before Merlin can run up onto it. "Are you real? God, Arthur, are you really here?"

"Yeah, I just stepped away for some firewoo—Merlin, what's going on?"

His friend has begun to laugh, still with that mad light in his eyes, and it's raising the hair on the back of Arthur's neck and down his arms. "I did it," he says, and laughs a little more. "I finally did it."

Arthur has to pry Merlin's hand off his tunic in order to get enough space between them to sheathe his sword. "Did what?" he asks, but Merlin wraps his arms around Arthur again and squeezes with surprising strength.

"Died," he says, and Arthur feels his heart skip a beat. The very air seems to grow colder. "I'm finally _here_."

"Good God above," Arthur breathes. "What did they do to you?"

"No one did anything to me," he replies. "I did it myself. It took years to figure it out, and then the answer was so obvious! But it doesn't matter now. I made it. I'm here. _You're_ here. That's all that matters to me."

"Merlin," Arthur starts carefully, "where exactly do you think we are?"

Something in Arthur's voice must catch Merlin's attention, because he pulls back from his embrace to look at Arthur in confusion. "Avalon," he says. "Are you… did you not… Arthur, I missed you so much. I waited for your return, I waited _so long_ , but finally I just couldn't stand it anymore. I'm sorry, I tried, but I just… I needed to be with you. I didn't think you were coming back."

There is so much about those sentences that doesn't make sense, Arthur isn't quite sure how to address it. One thing is becoming clear, though: this Merlin remembers Arthur's death, where less than an hour ago, he knew it only as a story Arthur had told him. Is this what the Disir meant by giving Arthur a gift? Does he truly have his oldest, dearest friend back?

Arthur's silence must upset Merlin, because he grows visibly distraught the longer they go without speaking.

"Did I fail you in this, too?" Merlin asks, tears welling up in his eyes.

"Merlin," he says, one hand coming up to clasp the other man's neck. "God, no. You've never—I can't think of a time you ever failed me."

"I couldn't save you," he replies, with a shudder and a sniffle as though he's holding back a far stronger reaction. "You died in my arms and I couldn't save you."

Arthur shakes his head. "It was my time. There was nothing you could have done." He looks around the clearing, remembering what the Disir have told him. "And anyway, I got another chance. It looks like you're getting one, too."

"Anoth… I don't understand."

"Yes well, you always were a bit slow," says Arthur. Gently, carefully, so there's no sting in the words. Merlin seems more than a little fragile, just at the moment. "Look around you."

Merlin does, though he still keeps one hand tangled in the laces of Arthur's tunic. "This place looks familiar."

"We're near the cave of the Disir."

Merlin flinches, hard, whirling back around to stare at Arthur. "Arthur—"

"It's all right. Here, sit. You've had a bit of a shock." Understatement; the poor man looks like he's ready to fall over. "I'll explain what I can."

They both take to their respective bedrolls, although Merlin looks as though he's not entirely comfortable letting Arthur sit even that far away from him. If he remembers Arthur's death, Arthur supposes that would make sense.

Arthur takes a deep breath. "I don't think that I ever made it to Avalon," he says. He has to ignore the way Merlin's face crumples, or he'll never get through this. "I remember dying, in your arms. You were with me at the end. I felt myself die… and then I woke up, ten years into the past." He holds up a hand when Merlin looks ready to interrupt. "Uther is alive, and I am still only the prince of Camelot, not her king. Morgana does not yet have magic, that I know of, though we've talked about her dreams. Gwen and I are not married." He meets Merlin's eyes. "I woke up, in my bed, in my chambers, ten years younger than when I had died. The very next day, from my perspective, you came to Camelot for the first time."

"You've been reliving your past?"

Arthur nods. "You didn't know me, even though I had hoped you would, but I knew you. We fought in the marketplace, although it went a little differently this time than the first time. You saved my life at the banquet the next night, and Father made you my manservant, but from there… everything has been changing. Little changes at first, but they've been compounding on one another bit by bit."

"And now we're at the cave of the Disir," Merlin says. "What of Mordred?"

"That's one of the changes I've made," explains Arthur. "We've come to speak to the Disir much earlier than in the first life I lived. I wanted to know how I had come to be here, alive, younger; whether it was something you had done to try and save me."

"No." Merlin shakes his head, still a bit shaky but more solid by the minute. "No, I would never have done something like that to you, Arthur. Force you to live the same tragedy all over again?"

"But it hasn't been the same," presses Arthur. "After we went to Ealdor to face down those bandits, I confronted you about your magic. I already knew because of what I remembered before I died, and of course you—younger you, I mean—you were still trying to keep it secret. And before that, I confronted Father on his murder of magic users, when he tried to catch and kill that druid boy. I told him I would not be party to the slaughter of innocents any longer. I told him I knew his secret, about my—about my mother's death. Told him I'd had a vision."

"A vision?" Merlin's eyes are wide.

"My memories. It seemed the best way to explain them."

Merlin nods in understanding. "How did he take that?"

Arthur winces, remembering the flogging that had followed. "Not well. Not the vision part, he looked more upset that his secrets were revealed than anything else, but he was furious when I told him I wouldn't hunt for the child."

"I can imagine."

"But it hasn't been all bad," Arthur says. "I told Gaius and you about my 'vision' as well, and you've both been a bit more forthcoming about things like how to defeat that afanc beneath the city. Although the afanc came first… ah, it's getting all jumbled in my head. But, here, remember that time I killed the unicorn? I was a bit smarter about it this time. That's how we ended up here, actually."

Merlin blinks at him. "You… _didn't_ kill a unicorn, and that led us to the Disir?"

"Anhora, the unicorns' keeper, gave me a coin."

"The judgment of the Disir."

Arthur nods. "There were two runes on it. They explained that it was meant to be one for each of us. But when we got here, they made you fall asleep, and then when you woke up…" He gestures around the clearing. "Well. Here we are."

"Here we are," says Merlin. He gives a smile that turns tremulous as his eyes fill with tears. "Here _you_ are. I still can't believe it."

Arthur tries to imagine what it might have been like if he'd watched Merlin die instead, and just the thought of it has him climbing off his bedroll to sit beside Merlin, shoulder to shoulder. "I'm sorry you had to see that," he says gravely. "My… my death. I'm sorry that you had to go through that. At the same time, though, I can't express to you how grateful I am for everything you did. I wasn't alone at the end, and that means more to me than I can ever say."

Merlin ducks his head, and brings one hand up to cover his face. His breath is shaky, and Arthur puts one hand on his back to help steady him.

"What about you?" he asks after a moment. "You said you had died, too." He'd said he'd finally _done_ it, as if he'd been trying to die, but Arthur is hoping very much that he's misheard that part.

"We didn't have time to talk about my magic the way you deserved," says Merlin. "I was trying too hard to save you. There wasn't time."

"There wasn't," Arthur agrees. "I hope we'll have the time to talk about it now that you're here, though."

"We will," says Merlin, and it sounds like a promise. "And this… this is part of it." He takes a deep breath, visibly steeling himself to say the words. "I have too much magic," he whispers finally. "I'm barely human at all. I'm more of a magical _creature_ than a person. A freak."

Arthur draws himself up, remembering the last time he'd heard that word escape his friend's lips. "And what would your mother think to hear you talk like that?"

Merlin laughs, or it might be a sob. "I just realized. She's still alive."

"Yes, of course she is. Everyone is. Or, almost everyone. At that battle, with Kanen and his men, I tried to save Will, but I was too late." He lowers his head a little, trying to study Merlin's expression. "I take it you outlived her?"

"Outlived her… yes, you could say that." Merlin laughs again, but it's bitter, so bitter, and Arthur marvels at the difference between this older Merlin and the younger one, gone now. "I outlived _everyone_ , Arthur. I told you. I have too much magic. I can't—I can't die."

A chill runs down Arthur's back. "What do you mean, you can't die?"

Merlin looks up, his expression faraway. "Do you remember… do you remember what happened when I killed Morgana? How she said no mortal blade could harm her?"

He'd been dying at the time, but Arthur does still remember that. "Yes."

"No mortal blade can harm me, either," says Merlin. "At least, not permanently. Nor poisoning, magical attacks, falls from a great height… even in the first year I knew you, I should have died at least twice. Gaius told me once that my heart actually stopped, after I drank that poison that Nimueh had brewed for you." Arthur nods; he remembers that moment only too well. "But it started up again," Merlin finishes with false cheer that fades quickly back to bitter sadness. "It's my curse."

"But you said… earlier, you said…"

"I finally managed it," nods Merlin. "Or I thought I had. After you died, I threw Excalibur into the Lake of Avalon. It's too powerful a weapon to leave just lying around. Once I realized what I needed, I begged the Lady of the Lake to return it to me, and I used it."

Arthur swallows in a throat gone suddenly dry. "You… you killed yourself, with _my sword_?"

"It took three tries, even then," Merlin admitted. "Slitting my wrists didn't work. Slitting my _throat_ didn't work—"

"My God, Merlin—"

"—so finally I fell on it. The blade pierced my heart and stayed there, and I think that's finally what did it." He looks around the clearing. "You can imagine how I felt when I opened my eyes and found myself here, breathing, instead."

Arthur shudders, remembering that wail of pure despair he'd heard earlier. "I can guess. Merlin…"

"You're here," says Merlin, as if reading his thoughts. "It doesn't have to be Avalon. You're _here_. I promise I won't try again, so long as you draw breath."

That isn't much of a promise, but Arthur has the feeling that it's all he's going to get. "How…" He really isn't sure he wants to know. "You said your magic keeps you alive. How long did you live, before you tried… that?"

And the look in his best friend's eyes is impossibly ancient and sad as he turns to Arthur and says, _"Centuries."_

Arthur hopes Merlin is exaggerating, but he has a horrible, horrible feeling that he isn't.

* * *

 

They end up with their bedrolls pulled right up next to one another, that night; Merlin doesn't say anything, but from the looks he keeps casting Arthur, he's still in a state of shock over being reunited with his best friend, and wants Arthur near for fear that he might disappear in the night. Merlin insists on laying the fire and preparing the stew for their dinner that evening, falling back into the servant's role even though Arthur is sure he hasn't needed to do anything of the sort in a long while; he keeps one eye on Arthur the entire time.

The fire crackles, and the sparks go up to join the stars before fading away. Around their camp, there is only the noise of insects and the occasional owl, or the stamp of a horse's hoof as they settle for the night. All is peaceful, and for much of the evening, neither of them speaks. Merlin spends most of his time just watching Arthur, staring at him like he's drinking him in; a man dying of thirst, finally given water.

Finally, Arthur has to break the silence. "Before you returned," he says tentatively, "your younger self asked if we could still be friends, with such a large gap in our ages. I had knowledge of the next ten years, and remembered what it was to be king, while he—you—were still just a boy. I reassured him that I'd never send him away, but now I find myself on the opposite side of that equation."

"I promise I won't send you away," says Merlin, and for just a moment it's like their old banter. Arthur shoves at Merlin's shoulder, and Merlin shoves back, before lighting up in a blinding grin. He looks at Arthur as though he hung the moon, and it's more than a little uncomfortable.

"You outlived me," he says, hating the way that makes Merlin's face fall. "With your memories, you're older than I, now. Are we— _can_ we still be friends?"

"I want that more than anything," says Merlin fervently. "I died because I couldn't bear being without you any longer. But… but I suppose it will have to be different this time."

Yes, Arthur would think so. The notion of someone committing suicide over him… it doesn't bear thinking about. "How will it be different?"

Merlin sighs. "It took a long time for me to learn to live without you in my life," he says after a moment. He sits up, pulls up a stick, and begins to poke at the fire, not looking at Arthur. "In a way, I never really did. I knew I was wrapped up in you too far, that I'd lost too much when I lost you, but I just… couldn't seem to get it back. In a way, I think I didn't want to. It would have felt too much like letting you go."

"And now?"

"And now, there is a part of me that wants to wrap myself up completely in you all over again, the way I did then. It isn't healthy. Or, maybe it was all the secrecy. Hiding who I really was, while doing everything to keep you safe—working in the shadows—it took its toll on me, to be sure. And yet, that was supposed to be my destiny: to protect you, to care for you, to help you become king and unite Albion. Or maybe caring about you was never supposed to be part of it. I don't know. I only know that I did things for you that I regret; made horrible mistakes, because I cared for you more than for your destiny, or because I had to choose between you and… and other people. Had to make impossible choices, sometimes, with no one else to turn to. But if I had them to do over, I don't know that I'd be able to do them any differently."

"I'm sorry," says Arthur.

"No, don't be." Merlin sighs again, long and slow. "You said you'd been given a second chance."

"That's what the Disir said, yes. They implied it was a second chance for us both."

"So maybe there _are_ mistakes I could avoid this time, if all goes well," says Merlin.

"I think that's the idea, yes," he replies. "Tomorrow, we'll head back to Camelot. And I'll tell you everything I remember about what the Disir said to me today."

"There's nothing you can say tonight?"

Arthur smiles. "I can tell you this. Right after they knocked you out, I was demanding to know what they'd done and why, and they said that they were giving me a gift. I can only assume they meant you, with all your memories of the future."

"I'm not sure if those memories are a blessing or a curse," says Merlin, and Arthur smiles a little wider.

"According to them, it's probably a little of both."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience and encouragement while you waited for the next chapter. Between traveling, juggling four WIPs, and then struggling to get my writing groove back, it's been a slow month for you all. I can't guarantee that the delays will evaporate, but I'm near the end of more than one of my WIPs, so hopefully updates will come a little more quickly in future. But again, my thanks to you all for bearing with me. I really appreciate it.

The next day, Merlin steps into the cave of the Disir, hoping to speak to them, but there is no one there. He looks around in disappointment before shaking his head and turning back to Arthur.

"Why is it you get all the advice and I am left to fend for myself?" he asks.

"I think you're meant to ask me for that information, since I actually have it," says Arthur. "Maybe they want you to learn to reach out to me instead of keeping secrets the way you had to before."

Merlin ducks his head uncomfortably. "I'm sorry." He won't meet Arthur's eyes.

Arthur sighs. He understands only too well why Merlin kept the secrets that he did, but there is still a gulf between them because of it. "Did you think me a fool, all those years?" he asks quietly. "Was I so easy to deceive?"

"No, Arthur. If you think I was having fun, hiding from you, well, I wasn't. I never thought you a fool." He smiles tentatively. "A prat, sometimes, but you grew out of that."

"Because of you." And in a way, that is a little difficult to stomach as well. With Merlin a secret sorcerer, one of the first thoughts that Arthur had had after he discovered it was how easy he must have been to manipulate.

Merlin shrugs. "I would say that your earlier arrogance, when you were young and full of yourself, made it _easier_ to hide what I did around you," he says. "And… you were taught that there _was_ no magic in Camelot. So of course whatever you saw had to be coincidence, or luck, or something else… anything but sorcery. Why should you have suspected?"

"I suppose that's true enough," says Arthur.

They gather their belongings and saddle the horses together, although every time Arthur looks up, he finds Merlin watching him as if he were a miracle that Merlin hadn't deserved to witness.

"Were you exaggerating yesterday," Arthur asks, "when you said you were alive for centuries before you…" He can't bring himself to say "died". "Before you returned here?"

Merlin mounts up, then shakes his head. "No, I wasn't."

"So you've really lived for hundreds of years," says Arthur, as he climbs aboard his own mount.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry." And Arthur isn't really sure he wants to know, but… "How fared Camelot, after I died?" he asks.

Merlin shudders hard enough to make his horse respond, and he takes a moment to settle her down before he answers. "I'd rather not say," he says quietly.

"Was it that bad?"

"No. It's… Every kingdom falls eventually. But I wasn't really around to watch how this one did."

Arthur waits, listening.

"After you… after Camlann, after Avalon, I returned long enough to tell Gwen you were gone, and to say goodbye to Gaius. I only stayed a few days, because, well, I saw you everywhere. Or your lack, I should say. The corridors were too empty without you in them, the palace too big and cold. I had no purpose there anymore, so I left. I never went back."

Arthur feels a pang of sorrow for what Merlin must have been through. "Where did you go?"

The other man shrugs. "Everywhere." He huffs something too sad to really call a laugh. "I suppose you could say I was running from my regrets and my mistakes, and I never really stopped."

Arthur nudges his horse close enough that he can grip Merlin by the shoulder. "Well, you've got a second chance now," he says. "We both have. Maybe it's time to stop running."

"Maybe. I have… _so_ many regrets," he says with a sigh. "Maybe this time I'll finally be able to get something right. Maybe this time I won't fail you."

"You didn't fail me before," says Arthur, but Merlin is already shaking his head.

"I did. There are things I've done for you that I'm not proud of. Things I tried to prevent that I couldn't, things I did with the best of intentions that all went… horribly wrong. And some of that was because I was trying to work in secret, trying to help you while hiding from you at the same time. I had almost no one to turn to for advice." Merlin sighs again. "Except for Gaius, I suppose, or the dragon, but Gaius mostly advised me not to reveal myself, and Kilgharrah had his own agenda. And I didn't always listen to either of them."

"You talked to the dragon?"

"He was imprisoned beneath the castle," says Merlin. "Actually, at this point in time, he probably still is. But yeah. He called to me my first night in Camelot. Told me all about this grand destiny I was supposed to have, protecting this bullying prat of a prince and making sure he lived to be king. But Kilgharrah mostly wanted to arrange things so that he would be freed, I think." Merlin shook his head. "I should probably confess, I'm not sure I believe in his destiny anymore. All the things he said we would do never really came to pass."

"Like what?"

"You were going to become high king of a united Albion. Magic was going to come back to the land. Magic users would no longer be feared or persecuted. There would be a golden age of peace and prosperity for all."

Arthur blinks. As if the responsibility of ruling Camelot wasn't great enough. "Sounds a bit of a tall order."

"I know. After you—" He takes a deep, shaky breath. "—after you died, he tried to convince me that we'd succeeded, and that you would return from Avalon when Albion's need was greatest. But you never did, and in any case you said you're not sure you ever even _went_ to Avalon."

"And you were left alone," says Arthur. "For that, I'm sorry, even though I know there was nothing I could have done."

Merlin shrugs again, but it's a small, defeated gesture, and Arthur is sure he'll grow to hate it if Merlin keeps doing it. "You get used to it, after a while," he says. "Being alone. And… I mean… even in Camelot, all the secrecy, all the hiding…"

"You were alone even then," says Arthur. "Not that you didn't have friends, but you could never show us all of who you were."

"I suppose not," says Merlin.

"And as for advice, you may have had Gaius and this dragon, but I doubt they confided much in you in return."

"Heh. No. That they did not."

"And you didn't have me, either."

Merlin turns in the saddle to look at Arthur, confusion on his face. "What do you mean? We were friends, even though you always claimed we weren't."

"I mean, when it came to advice. I could always come to you, but you felt you couldn't come to me." And that is what stings the most, he realizes. "What a fool you must have thought me," he says again.

"Arthur, no. You are a great king. Or, were—will be?" He smiles, and it's a little warmer, this time. "Journeying backwards through time is strange."

"That it is." He sobers, though, and adds, "You couldn't have trusted me very far."

"I trusted you with my life."

"But not with the truth," says Arthur.

"I wanted to," Merlin insists. "You have no idea how much, how _often_ I wanted to tell you. But even if you hadn't chopped my head off, you'd have been put in the position of lying to your father, and I just… I couldn't do that to you."

"And after my father was gone? After I became king?"

"After he was gone, you were convinced that magic was evil. I did everything I could to save Uther, but when I failed—"

" _You_ did? I thought it was Dragoon who—"

"Dragoon was a disguise. Here, look." And Arthur does, and he watches as Merlin begins to age, the hair at his temples going gray first, then white spreading across his scalp. The hair grows longer and a beard joins it. Merlin's skin becomes wrinkled and covered in liver spots, and his back bends under the weight of many years. Only the eyes remain the same.

"My God." He'd always thought there was something familiar about the old man, and now Arthur knows what it was. "You killed my _father_ ," he breathes. "How could—did you simply decide you'd had enough of his ways, and the timing was right to finish the job?"

"Arthur, no, of course not." Even his voice has withered with age. He sounds exactly like the old sorcerer. "I did everything in my _power_ to save the king. But you remember that Agravaine plotted against you with Morgana, right?"

"What does that have to do with—"

"She gave him an amulet to put on Uther's person. A pendant. It reversed any magic performed on the person who wore it. I suppose it would have been a protective charm at any other time, someone trying to harm you would help you instead, but when I tried to heal him…"

Arthur feels a little sick. "The magic made him worse."

" _My_ magic made him worse. I couldn't understand it. I did _everything_ in my power, but, well. You were there." He brings a shaking hand up to touch his forehead. "We didn't find the pendant until Gaius was preparing the body for burial in the tombs." Dragoon—Merlin—looks so very old and weary as he says the words. "I failed you then. And you looked at me after, and swore you would never forget that magic was evil, and how could I argue the point? How could I tell you then?"

Arthur nods, tamping down his anger at the remembered betrayal, which, apparently, had never been a betrayal at all. "How many other failures like that have you… committed?" He's bracing himself, not sure he wants to know, but he's aware that he needs to have the truth and all of the truth if he and Merlin are to work together as equals.

"Too many," says Merlin. "Too many."

"Such as?"

"I'm responsible for turning Morgana against us," he says, not looking at Arthur. "I as good as drove her straight into Morgause's arms."

Arthur is bewildered at the very thought. Merlin? Granted, he clearly doesn't know the other man as well as he thought he had, but was everything about his very personality a lie, too? "How?"

The old man next to him on Merlin's horse seems to shrink into himself. "Do we have to do this now?"

Arthur almost answers, _yes,_ but then he takes in how defeated Merlin looks, how he won't meet Arthur's eyes, how… how the Dragoon from before had never looked so bowed with age and regret as he does now. He hesitates, then decides there will be time to discuss it later, perhaps after the shock they've both faced has worn off a bit. This older Merlin hasn't even been back a full day, after all. "She hasn't turned against us yet," he says instead, and watches as Merlin closes his eyes in relief. "Change back," he adds. "How you can see past those eyebrows is beyond me."

If Merlin smiles, it's hidden behind the beard, but he does as Arthur asks. It's unnerving, a bit, to watch the long hair darken and the beard vanish, as his friend's posture straightens and the spots and wrinkles on his skin smooth over and disappear. He rolls his neck from side to side, and twists his back, and Arthur hears several pops. "That's better," he says. "I always forget what it's like not to ache in my joints." Then he heaves a heavy sigh and looks over at Arthur. "Morgana's biggest problem was that she didn't ask for magic; she didn't _pursue_ it or study it, the way you and she were taught that a person had to do in order to have it at all."

"I remember wondering when you had had the time to study magic," says Arthur, "but thinking about it… there were children killed in the Purge as well; too young to have studied sorcery, weren't they?"

Merlin nods. "I was born with it," he says.

Arthur blinks. "I hadn't known that was possible."

"Neither did Gaius, when I told him. I'm not sure anyone else has ever had the magic come on so early. But for some of us, that's what it's like. The talent just… appears, one day. For me, it appeared with my first breath."

"And Morgana?"

"I don't know exactly _when_ it appeared, although I have a guess. But in any event, when it did come, she didn't feel she had anyone to turn to. Imagine having magic in Uther's household, in Uther's _court_ ; imagine how scared she must have been. And I listened to Gaius, and didn't tell her that that was what was happening to her. She was so alone, and afraid, Arthur." His eyes are sad and faraway as he adds, "I should have told her."

"Told her she had magic?"

Merlin nods. "She already has it, really," he says. "Or something close enough as to make no difference. Her dreams come true. Or, they have the potential to come true, if no one does anything to prevent it. She's a Seer."

"Her nightmares," Arthur realizes. And he and Morgana have talked about that, a little, but perhaps not enough. He remembers how distraught she was before Sophia appeared.

Merlin nods again. "She can't control it, has no idea how to manage it, and it's driving her mad. And I failed her, _we_ failed her, by not being by her side to help her cope with that. Only Morgause ever offered her any relief." He frowns. "Has Morgause come to Camelot yet?"

"Morgause? No. I think we have until next year for that. You've only been in Camelot a few months."

Merlin nods. "Then there's still time. We can help Morgana, show her that she doesn't have to run away in order to find anyone who will help her like she needs."

"Run away…" Arthur feels a bit sick. "She was never kidnapped by the druids, was she?"

"No."

Arthur shuts his eyes, just for a moment, against the guilt of having sent knights to kill peaceful people in a misguided attempt to rescue someone who never needed saving. At least, she hadn't needed saving _then_. He sighs, long and low. "There are so many things we need to do differently this time," he says. "And I have _no idea_ how to go about doing them."

Merlin looks at him, again, as if Arthur is a miracle just for existing. "We'll figure it out. You have me."

"And you won't have to hide your efforts. At least, not from me."

Merlin smiles. "You should know that I'm likely to be a lot less afraid of Uther this time around."

Arthur grimaces. "You should be. You may not be able to die, but I imagine being hanged and having your neck broken would still hurt." He licks his lips and glances away. "Please. Don't do anything I can't protect you from."

Merlin's voice is quiet, respectful in a way that Arthur has rarely heard it. "Of course."

* * *

 

They ride in silence for a few hours, which is a bit strange now that Arthur has time to think about it. The Merlin he remembers, and of course the younger Merlin he came here with, liked to chatter about nearly anything under the sun. This Merlin might well draw attention to himself by his silences, if he isn't careful.

"You're unusually quiet," he says finally.

"Just thinking." Merlin smiles at him. "You used to ask me to shut up all the time."

"I did," says Arthur. "I hope they're good thoughts," he tries awkwardly. He never was very good at expressing concern.

"Mostly," Merlin replies. "Making plans. And of course still wrapping my brain around the notion that," he laughs suddenly, "that all of you are still alive." He shakes his head, still smiling. "I just can't believe it."

"I wonder what happened to the younger version of you. Of me," muses Arthur. "Do you remember any of the last few months? I know you remember your previous life."

"I… hm. Strange." Merlin's brow furrows a little, and Arthur waits him out. "I remember sort of a double layer of some things. When we fought at Ealdor. When Will died. Did Kanen try to kill you, or Morgana?"

"Me the first time, Morgana this time."

Merlin nods thoughtfully. "And when you rescued the druid boy…" He sits up straight, so sudden that his horse halts in the middle of the road. "Uther had you flogged?!"

Arthur sighs. "This time."

Merlin's expression turns murderous; it's an expression Arthur's not sure he's ever seen on his friend before. He's so far beyond angry that Arthur isn't quite sure what to do about it. "I'll kill him."

Arthur's eyes go wide. "What."

"If he lays a hand on you again like that…"

"Merlin, stop. You're talking treason."

The other man only scoffs. "Uther Pendragon was never my king," he says. "It was you, Arthur, always you. And I have had _centuries_ to grow into my power. I told you, he doesn't scare me."

"And I told _you,_ Merlin, don't do anything that I can't protect you from! Do you really think I wish to start my reign with the murder of my own father?"

Merlin still looks… _dangerous_ , for a heartbeat, but then the moment passes and he sighs. "No, I suppose not. I'm sorry," he says, and he at least seems sincere. "I've been alone too long. And for you, Arthur… it's not that I _would_ do anything. It's that I _have_. I've killed for you before. I'd do it again."

"Hopefully it will never come to that."

Merlin nods. "Hopefully."

This is supposed to be a second chance for them both, according to the Disir, and it would seem that this Merlin needs Arthur's wisdom as much as Arthur has ever needed Merlin's.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay; the holidays are upon us, and for me that has meant less free time/motivation to write. But I do have the ending of this fic all plotted out and outlined and whatnot, I just have to write it, so I promise I won't leave you all hanging. Enjoy, and thanks for your patience.

The rest of their journey passes without incident, Merlin alternating between talking about what he and Arthur remember of the days to come, and mulling over what he's learned in thoughtful silence. Arthur thought he would be irritated by the chatter, or unnerved by the silence, but instead he finds that the two of them are well balanced. It's peaceful to be able to think without expectations of holding up his end of the conversation, yet refreshing to have Merlin there to draw him out of his thoughts when they grow too serious.

When they come in sight of Camelot, Merlin gasps and covers his mouth with his hand, and Arthur glances over to see tears standing in the other man's eyes. They're on the top of a rise that lets them look down into the valley, and even though Camelot is still at least an hour's ride away from here, she sits like a jewel on a pillow, gleaming in the sun. Even from here, the pennants on the castle are visible, streaming in the wind.

"I never thought I'd see Camelot again," says Merlin. Everything about him is shaky; his voice, his hands. If Arthur looks closely enough, he's pretty sure he'll be able to see the tremors all throughout Merlin's body, too. "I'd forgotten how beautiful it was."

"Is," says Arthur. "And will be. Between us, she'll stand strong and proud for a good long while."

Merlin draws himself up, turning to Arthur with an expression on his face that Arthur hasn't seen since they met around the table in the keep of the ancient kings. So much pride and hope and love shine through that Arthur has to look away, overwhelmed. In his first life, he had never been enough for Uther, had never met the man's expectations, and had received assurances of his love only infrequently at best. Arthur had gone through most of his adolescence convinced that he was nothing more than a grand disappointment to his father. All of that had always fallen away whenever Merlin was by his side.

The secret sorcerer may indeed have manipulated Arthur, it's impossible to say for certain, but if he had, he'd done it through kindness and faith, and shaped Arthur into the sort of man he'd never thought himself capable of being.

"You'll have to be patient with me for a few days," says Merlin, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. "It's been a while since I had to take anyone's armor on and off." He laughs and adds, "It's been a while since anyone has even _worn_ armor that wasn't ceremonial. God, so much has changed."

"Well, you were never that competent with my armor anyway," says Arthur, and Merlin laughs because it's blatantly untrue. It had taken him a while to learn, granted, untrained to servitude as he was; but eventually he had, and then Arthur hadn't trusted anyone else to touch his harness. "And what do you mean; people don't wear armor into battle?"

Merlin blinks and seems to recover himself, looking at Arthur with a smile that quickly fades to something more somber. "Well, they do _nowadays_. But eventually people will invent weapons that make armor useless, so they stop wearing it."

Weird, and unnerving, Arthur thinks. "Magic weapons?" he asks, pitching his voice low even though no one is around.

At that, Merlin smiles sadly. "No. Just an invention of bloody-minded science."

"Science," says Arthur, then a thought occurs to him. "Gaius."

The other man's eyes go wide. "What about him? He's still alive, right? Has something happened?"

"No, no, he's fine. Or he was three days ago, when we left to find the grove of the Disir." Arthur almost reaches out to touch Merlin, to reassure him, before he catches himself. "But you'll have to tell him everything, won't you," he muses. "If we're to have his advice the way I assume we did before. He knew about your magic."

"Yeah," says Merlin, a faraway look in his eye. "The first time we met, he was distracted and almost took a bad fall. I caught him with my magic before he could be hurt. Didn't really think about it, just… So yeah, he's known from the beginning." He shakes his head and huffs a little laugh. "I'd forgotten about that. I wonder what else I'll have to remember."

"That Uther is king and can have your head, for starters," Arthur reminds him. "Be careful."

"That Morgana isn't evil yet," counters Merlin. "Or is she?"

"Not that I know of," says Arthur. "But she hasn't been speaking to Father lately. She's still furious over the druid boy who escaped; the one Father wanted to kill."

"Don't remind me. He had you flogged because you wouldn't murder a child. Not the sort of example you'd think he wanted to set for his son the prince."

"When it comes to sorcery…" Arthur sighs, and Merlin joins him.

"Yes. I know." They both nudge their horses and begin the long descent toward Camelot. "How long ago was that? About a month?"

"Going on three, now."

"And she's _still_ not speaking to him?"

Arthur shakes his head. "Walks out of any room he walks into. He's commanded her to dine with him more than once, but she just sits there and refuses to speak. It's like he's not even in the room; she won't even look at him."

Merlin grimaces. "She always was tenacious," he says.

"That she is."

"It's going to take some getting used to… everyone being alive. Not living alone. Gaius's type of medicine."

Arthur frowns. "What's wrong with his type of medicine?"

"Nothing!" Merlin exclaims, eyebrows going up. "No, Gaius is one of the best physicians of his day. But remember, for me, hundreds of years have passed. I've forgotten some of his herbal remedies, and I've replaced some of them with things that work better."

Arthur's eyebrows go up. " _You're_ a physician?"

"It's a good cover for the magic, and people trust doctors," explains Merlin with a shrug. "I'll live in a place for a few years, maybe up to fifty, but if I stay too long, people grow suspicious. Because I don't die," he adds, seeing the confusion on Arthur's face, and Arthur feels a pang in his chest at the thought. "Anyway, so, when I need to move on from a place, I just claim to be a doctor and I'm welcomed wherever I turn up next. I learn a bit more every few years, too, to keep current. It helps." Merlin looks down and fidgets with his reins. "Keeps me from isolating myself too much."

The thought of Merlin, the gregarious, bumbling fool who has a ready smile and a kind word for everyone, isolating himself and being the target of suspicion, having to move on and never make a real home anywhere, simply hurts Arthur to contemplate. "I'm sorry," he says quietly.

Merlin only shrugs. "'S not your fault I'm a freak," he replies.

"Your mother would box your ears if she heard you say that."

In an instant, the other man's melancholy dissolves into a blinding grin. "She would, wouldn't she? And she's still alive to do it. Oh God," he breathes. "She's still alive. Arthur, can I—"

"Yes. In fact, you probably should. We'll see if there are any looming crises that have cropped up while we were away, and then if I can spare you, you should go."

"Thanks, sire," says Merlin, his grin positively blinding. "I never thought I'd ever get to call someone 'sire' again, either."

"It's an improvement over 'clotpole', I must admit," says Arthur. It's hard not to answer Merlin's smile with one of his own, and Arthur doesn't bother to resist the urge.

"Don't get too excited; I'll still let you know when you're being an ass."

"Of that, I have no doubt."

* * *

 

Merlin is gawking about him like a country boy at the fair for the first time, drinking in everything he sees as if it's a wonder when all it is is a wagon full of thatch, or a man leaning against the wall with a jug of drink in his hand. A few people have greeted him by name in the streets of the lower town, and he's waved back, looking almost too happy to be believed. By the time they reach the stables, Merlin is so incandescent with joy that he looks like he's gone a little mad.

"Settle down, will you?" Arthur says. "You're going to make people suspicious again."

"Right. Sorry," the other man replies. "I just… this is beyond all my wildest hopes." He takes a deep breath and lets it out with another grin. "It'll take a bit to get used to."

And Arthur remembers, it had taken him a few days to get over the shock himself, and he hadn't tried to kill himself to come back here, either. He nods, and claps Merlin on the shoulder. "Take your time," he says. "After all, we _have_ time, now."

"Yes, sire." He takes the reins of both their horses, and looks over his shoulder toward where the stable hands are waiting. "Is that everything for now?"

"Go see Gaius. Refresh your memory about where the kitchens are, and see about getting me a bath, would you? We've been out a few days."

"Of course." Merlin looks idiotically happy to be taking Arthur's orders again, and Arthur has to shake his head before he does something foolish like ruffle the other man's hair in front of everyone.

"Off with you," he says, and Merlin goes.

* * *

 

"There you are," says Morgana, when they cross paths.

"Morgana," replies Arthur, stripping off his gloves. His sister follows him toward his chambers. "You don't usually seek me out; is something wrong?" She glances his way, frowning, and he pauses. " _Is_ something wrong?"

"I'm not sure," she says slowly. "I've… it's probably nothing."

Meaning it almost certainly isn't. "'Gana," he says, taking her hand. "You know you can talk to me, right?"

Uncharacteristically, she bites her lip and looks away, but after a moment she nods. "Not here. Not where just anyone can see."

"Fine," he replies, and tilts his head up the corridor toward his chambers. She pulls her hand away from his, but falls into step beside him and they make the rest of the short walk in silence.

Once the door is closed, she leans up against it and sighs. "I've been having strange dreams, again," she says. "It's probably nothing, but… they won't leave me alone."

Arthur's hands pause in the act of reaching up to pull off his spaulder and gorget. "Dreams about what?"

"It's nothing—"

"'Gana. We've talked about this. You can tell me anything. I won't go to Father. If you need me to swear it, I will."

"No. No, you don't—" she breaks off with another sigh. "I just don't want anything to happen to you," she says finally. Her voice is small, smaller than Arthur can remember hearing it in a long time.

"Tell me whatever you can, and I'll do my best to work with it," Arthur promises.

"There's a… beast," she says slowly. "I can't describe it any better than that. I see scales, like a snake's, but then also fur and spots?" She shakes her head. "And I'm visiting a grave, with Uther. You're not there, you're with the beast somehow, but it seems as though the two things are related. I don't know. Maybe they're happening at the same time. We're both in danger. All three of us," she says distantly. "All _four_ of us. Uther, me; you, Merlin." Morgana blinks rapidly, and shakes herself as if waking up. "I'm not sure we all make it back to Camelot alive." She looks at Arthur with tears welling up in her eyes. "There's a grave, and you're not there, and I don't know who is in the grave. The dreams don't say." A single tear breaks free and drips down to her chin. "I don't want it to be you."

"It won't be," says Arthur, drawing her close into an embrace. He is thinking furiously, trying to imagine what the images might mean. Something about snakes and spots tugs at him… and then he remembers.

The Questing Beast.

He takes a deep breath, then stops himself before he can say anything. What would he do, direct Morgana to Gaius for answers? Their physician has spent years telling her the dreams are nothing, and has tried to drug them out of her. It's what the younger Arthur might have done, true, but his older self knows it's useless. And he can't confess what he already knows about the beast, without giving himself away.

What could the grave mean? Last time, Arthur nearly died, but Gaius had been able to save him. The Disir have given him a second chance, so surely he and Merlin should be able to defeat the beast together. Shouldn't they?

He sighs, and squeezes Morgana a little tighter before letting her go. It looks as though they're going to face a waiting game, until more information can come to them. Reports from the countryside about the beast's rampage, perhaps.

"Thank you for telling me," he says, his hands on Morgana's shoulders. "I know it couldn't have been easy."

"Thank you for listening," she answers quietly. "I still… I'm not used to this."

"To talking about your dreams?"

"To you listening, instead of being an ass."

Arthur smiles. "You've done such a wonderful job of pointing it out to me whenever I forget myself," he says.

Morgana smiles as well, but she's shaking her head at the same time. "It's more than that," she says. "Maybe Merlin has been good for you, too."

"Pssh. If there was ever anyone _more_ likely to call me out for my behavior, I've never met them," Arthur says, then sobers. "It's… Father would have me hold everyone at arm's length, and not trust anyone not to have ulterior motives toward the Crown. Merlin, and you, and Guinevere, have all taught me better."

"I'm glad," says Morgana, and she leans up and kisses him on the cheek. "Uther has gone mad with no one to listen to. Don't you do the same."

"You'd never let me," says Arthur.

"You're right; I wouldn't," she says, looking over her shoulder with a mischievous smile as she opens his door and walks out.

* * *

 

Dinner that night is a relaxed affair, with a few of Uther's knights and Gaius present at the table as well as Morgana and Arthur; this is unusual, but not unheard of, since Gaius was made a freeman after Edwin Muirden's death. Usually it means that Uther has something he wants to discuss, but doesn't think it important enough yet to bring up before his council.

When it is his turn to carry the conversation, Arthur makes up a story about the "magnificent white stag" he was supposed to be hunting on his trip to the Disir turning out to be a farmer's especially large goat. The other guests at the table laugh, and Uther unbends long enough to smile at the tale.

"Ah well, I suppose my son can't claim all the trophies of the wilderness, or there would be none for the rest of you to boast of," he says. "In any case, I believe I've heard tales of a better one for you to hunt."

"Oh?"

"Yes," says Uther. "Reports have come in from the east of a strange monster, attacking and killing those who go into the forest. No one has survived its bite, and witnesses claim the death is not an easy one." Uther's face is grave. "It is no natural creature, and can only be the result of magic, whether in its birth or its summoning."

"No natural creature, sire?" asks one of the knights. "Are there descriptions of it?"

Uther nods. "The only survivors have been those who have fled the beast's presence rather than stand to fight it, but they claim that it has the head of a serpent and the body of a leopard."

Morgana has not spoken for the entire meal, since Uther is present, but she glances up sharply at Arthur when she hears those words. He gives her a minute nod; he recognizes the description from her dreams, as well as from his past life. Behind him, Merlin steps up to refill his goblet, whispering in his ear.

"The Questing Beast?"

"We'll talk later," he murmurs in reply, still watching Morgana's face. She nods as well, and he knows that it will be a challenge deciding what to say in her presence.

"A leopard, sire?" Gaius is saying in the meantime. "That sounds like a description of the Questing Beast."

"A what?" asks a knight, and Gaius is quick to fill them in. He shies away from mentioning what Arthur has remembered, about its status as an omen, only appearing during times of great upheaval for a kingdom. Still, from the look on Uther's face, it is clear that he knows. Arthur wonders if the beast has made an appearance before in Camelot's history, and resolves to ask Gaius about it later.

Conversation reveals the rest; that the beast is not interesting in eating its prey, but seems according to witnesses to be searching for something, "Hence its name," finishes Gaius. It's early yet to tell, but Arthur suspects that the next few days will reveal that it is heading directly for Camelot.

"When we know more, I'll assemble a hunting party," says Arthur. "We'll not allow this beast to continue to harm Camelot's citizens."

Uther nods his approval, but Arthur has a feeling he'll be hearing about this from Merlin later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to leave extra kudos, you're welcome to stop by [my Tumblr blog](http://peaceheather.tumblr.com) and say hello.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, one and all. I'd hoped to get this out earlier, but man, that last week of December is a hectic one.

"You can't go." Merlin is pacing Arthur's chambers, rather than helping him get undressed as he should. He's twitchy, his eyes darting back and forth as he thinks of who-knew-what, biting at his thumbnail as he moves. "You can't."

"Merlin, I must."

The other man rounds on him then, eyes wide. "Do you not remember what happened to you last time?"

"I was bitten, and I survived."

"No, you didn't! Nothing survives the bite of the Questing Beast, it was summoned specifically to kill you, that's what it's questing _for!"_ Again, Merlin spins on his heels, pacing between the bed and the fireplace. "You can't go."

"Merlin, you've forgotten that you don't get to tell me what to do. And what do you mean, I didn't survive? Gaius cured me."

" _I_ cured you! With water from the Cup of Life, and then Nimueh tricked me, and instead of dying in your place, she tried to take my mother."

Arthur stops struggling with the ties on his doublet and looks up, blinking. "What?"

Merlin sighs, but at least he finally stops his maddening pacing, collapsing instead into one of Arthur's chairs. "The bite of the Questing Beast is _always_ fatal. The only cure for you was water from the Cup of Life itself." He leans forward and scrubs his hands over his face, before dropping them to hang limply between his knees. "In the Old Religion you cannot give a life without taking one in return. It is a universal law, a balance to the cosmos. So I offered myself in your place."

"Merlin!" Arthur drops onto the edge of his bed to stare at his friend. "You… I remember now, you were saying _goodbye_ to me, weren't you? When you told me not to get a bootlicker to replace you."

Merlin refuses to look up and meet Arthur's eyes, which is probably wise given that Arthur kind of wants to throw something at him for old time's sake. "Your destiny is to become a great king. My destiny is to protect you and make sure that that can happen. I was willing, and prepared to die for you."

"No. That's not allowed. You don't get to do that for me, do you understand?"

Now Merlin looks up, and his expression is only weary and sad. "That's not a decision you get to make. And anyway, as I said, Nimueh didn't allow the balance to come for me."

Arthur would argue the point, but decides to hold off until later. "You said she came for your mother?"

Merlin nods. "I went back to her, furious… only to find that Gaius had gotten there before me, and decided to offer himself up. He said that he was old and his time was past, and that he'd be happy to be the one to take my place." Merlin shakes his head. "Nimueh was perfectly willing to take _him_. I thought he was dead, when I first got back there."

"So what happened?" asks Arthur gently. It's clear that Merlin is lost in his memories of a horrible time.

"I killed her," he says. "I realized that the balance didn't actually care whose life was taken; Nimueh was the one to pick and choose in her desire for revenge on Uther. She didn't want me to die, because she thought I'd be amenable to ruling beside her, magic-users lording it over everyone else. I refused. And I was so angry and betrayed at what she'd done, to my mother, to Gaius, that I called lightning down from the sky to strike her dead. Gaius revived. We came home. You were well, and my mother recovered."

"Merlin, I'm sorry."

The other man blinks as if waking from a dream, and looks up finally to meet Arthur's gaze. "Sorry? For what?"

"That you had to suffer through that," Arthur replies. "That you nearly lost your mother and Gaius. That you tried to die for me. None of that should have happened."

"Yes, well, if the Questing Beast doesn't bite you, then I won't have to toy with the power of life and death to bring you back," says Merlin bitterly. He takes a deep breath, visibly calming himself down, before he continues. "That's why you can't go."

"But Merlin, you can't face that beast yourself. You know you can't. Do you honestly think I'm willing to put you in harm's way in my stead? What happens if you're the one bitten, hm? I won't be able to do the magic that brings you back, and I'm not like my father. I'm not willing to let some random person die in order to get what I want." When Merlin doesn't answer, Arthur gets up and steps across to where Merlin is sitting, looking far too fragile and world-weary for someone in such a young body. "We'll go together," he says, resting his hands on Merlin's shoulders. "Might and magic, side by side. We'll defeat the beast together. We'll protect one another the way I think we were always meant to, and Camelot will be safe."

Merlin opens his mouth to reply, but a knock at the door interrupts him. Arthur moves back, and Merlin gets up to answer the door.

"Lady Morgana," he says, glancing back at Arthur. Arthur nods, and he pulls the door wide. Arthur does not miss the way he watches her warily as she moves past him. Arthur will have to warn him about showing that much mistrust toward someone who has not yet earned it, here in their second life.

"Morgana," he says, pulling out a chair for her at the table. "I assume you're here because of the business at dinner."

"This… Questing Beast," she says, looking troubled. "That's what I dreamt of, I'm sure of it."

"It certainly seems so, yes."

"Arthur, you can't go."

"Morgana—" he tries, but Merlin talks right over the top of him.

"See, Arthur, Morgana agrees with me."

"Shut up, Merlin." For a second, Arthur thinks he's crossed a line, but then Merlin smiles in that way that Arthur has come to recognize over the past few days: the one that says he's just experienced something he'd never expected to again.

Morgana doesn't seem to have noticed anything amiss, as she smiles too, small and worried though it is. "It's only… what we discussed before…"

"Your dreams," says Arthur, and then grimaces as she flinches.

"Merlin knows? You told him?"

Arthur takes a deep breath. "Merlin is to me as Gwen is to you," he says carefully. "There are no secrets between us."

She bites her lip and glances between them, but when Merlin sees how fearful she looks, his own expression softens. "I only know that you have strange dreams sometimes," he says. "I didn't know you'd dreamt of this."

"I don't know what they mean. If they even mean anything," says Morgana. "But I saw Sophia before she ever came to Camelot, and she tried to kill Arthur just as I saw it in my dream."

"Did you see the Questing Beast kill Arthur?" Merlin asks gently. He reaches for the pitcher and pours her a goblet of wine, which she takes gratefully. "I've been trying to convince him not to go, myself."

"Well… I saw parts of the beast, and they matched the description that Uther gave over dinner," she replies. "And there's a grave. I'm visiting a grave with Uther, which makes no sense, given that we're not even on speaking terms lately. But I don't know who is in the grave. I pray that it isn't Arthur."

"But you didn't see Arthur in your dreams at all?" Merlin presses.

Morgana bites her lip, looking more unsure than Arthur has ever seen her. "I don't… I don't think so. I just knew he was there, fighting it. He was in terrible danger," she says, looking up into Merlin's eyes. "You both were."

At this, it's Merlin's turn to look troubled. "Perhaps we _should_ both go," he muses.

"Merlin, no." Morgana lays a hand on his forearm, and Arthur sees the way he suppresses a flinch. "This beast… it's unnatural. It will kill anything, and it doesn't hunt for food. It's out for something specific, and I fear that that something is Arthur."

"So do I," says Merlin.

"But I cannot leave this monster to rampage across Camelot," Arthur cuts in, before either of them can speak up. "Besides, I'll have help."

"Arthur, I fear your knights will not be enough—"

"No," says Merlin quietly. "No, he'll have someone else to assist him. Someone with magic."

Morgana's eyes grow wide; with her back turned to Arthur, so do his. "Are you serious?" she asks, and Arthur is thinking the same thing. After ten years of secrecy, despite their friendship, is he really going to reveal his magic now? To Morgana, of all people?

"The druids call him Emrys," says Merlin, to Arthur's surprise, "and he's destined to help Arthur become a great king. He protects Arthur from the shadows, when he can. He doesn't ever reveal himself, for obvious reasons."

"And you think this Emrys will help you face the Questing Beast?" asks Morgana, turning in her seat. She is looking up at Arthur with wide, hopeful eyes.

"I… he's… helped me before," Arthur manages to say. "Even though I've never seen his face myself. But Merlin knows how to reach him. The… the druids talk to him."

"They do," says Merlin, and somehow Arthur just knows that they will be having a talk about this later. "I can get word to Emrys, and he'll come. Arthur will be safe from the Questing Beast. And if he's not, if anything happens, Emrys will do everything in his power to make it right."

"I overheard Gaius talking to Uther, after I'd left the room," says Morgana. "He says the Questing Beast is an omen. It represents a time of great upheaval for the kingdom. He said that the last time anyone reported sightings of it was when you were born, Arthur." One corner of her mouth quirks up, and she looks down at her hands. "Uther didn't like that very much."

"No, I imagine he didn't," says Arthur.

"What are you going to do?" she asks.

"I can't leave Camelot to fend for itself against this beast," he replies. "No, don't look at me like that; you have to have known that I would want to go and face it down myself. This isn't about proving myself to Father. It's entirely about protecting the people of Camelot from a threat they can't face themselves."

Morgana nods, a resigned expression on her face. "But you'll bring Emrys with you," she says.

"I'll meet him outside Camelot," answers Arthur, with a glance toward Merlin. The other man nods decisively, and Arthur continues, "We'll face the beast together. I'll have to bring several knights with me to hunt the beast, so I'm not sure if  Emrys will be able to get too close; but as I said, he's helped before with no one noticing he was there. We'll figure something out."

Morgana nods; she takes a deep breath and her shoulders drop, making Arthur realize for the first time just how tense she has been. "It isn't much," she says, "but I've never dreamed of Emrys, and every time I've thought you were going to die, something has saved you. Or someone. I suppose now I know what it was."

"It'll be all right, Morgana," says Merlin. "Emrys won't let anything happen to him. He'd die, first."

* * *

 

A few days go by as they collect reports of the Questing Beast's rampage, until they have a fairly good idea of where it is, or where it might be heading next. There are caves in its path where it might reasonably be expected to lair, and Arthur wastes no time gathering and briefing the knights he wishes to take with him.

The day before he is set to leave, Morgana comes to him, smiling.

"The grave," she says, once they are alone. "The one I dreamed of."

"Yes? What about it?"

"Uther spoke to me this afternoon. I didn't want to listen to him, but he commanded my presence, and… he wants to reconcile. I think he even wants to apologize for not listening to me about the druid boy. He wants to take me to visit my father's grave site. It's Gorlois, not you!"

Gorlois isn't Morgana's father by blood, but she doesn't know that, and Arthur isn't supposed to. "That is a relief to hear," he admits. "When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow. The grave is north of Camelot, and the Questing Beast is east, so Uther thinks it will be safe. We'll bring a few knights with us for escort, of course, but…" Morgana takes a deep breath and sighs on the exhale. "I've grown tired of the standoff between us. He is in the wrong, and it sounds as though he's actually willing to acknowledge that."

"That's unusual for him," says Arthur, and Morgana smiles.

"He says that I remind him of Gorlois, and that Gorlois was never afraid to tell him when he was wrong. I think he wants to reminisce, and perhaps listen to me more in the future. Arthur, this could mean the beginning of having some real influence over him. This could mean a real change."

Arthur has his doubts, but, "I hope you're right," is all he says.

* * *

 

"She's going _where?!"_

"Gorlois's grave site," says Arthur. Merlin is tearing at his hair and pacing again. "Why, what's the matter?"

"The last time they did that, she allied with the sorcerer Tauren and tried to kill Uther."

Arthur's jaw drops. He's never heard of this, in either lifetime. "Are you serious?"

Merlin nods, not looking up from his pacing. "I went after them, but Tauren's men knocked me unconscious. Morgana must have changed her mind, though, because when I woke, Uther was still alive and Tauren was dead."

"She's had a few months for her rage to cool," Arthur points out.

"Or for it to fester," counters Merlin. "Arthur… I don't know what to do. I can't be in two places at once."

"You could follow them—"

"No. Out of the question. If the Questing Beast bites you again, I couldn't bear it. You know about my magic now, which means I can protect you without having to wait until it's nearly too late."

"But if you go with me…"

Merlin stops his pacing and looks Arthur in the eye. It's been a while since he's seemed so ancient and sad. "If I go with you, Arthur, there is every chance that Uther will die." He frowns suddenly. "But Gwen's father is still alive."

"He is," says Arthur. "Tauren did come to town, and he tried to approach Tom Smith, but the guards were waiting. He didn't get what he wanted. And Tom was never implicated for aiding a sorcerer, so my father never had the excuse to jail him, much less execute him."

"That's… wow. That's a pretty big difference between our first life and this one."

"I know," says Arthur proudly. "He's one of the first that I've managed to save."

Merlin, however, is not smiling. "A life for a life…" he murmurs, and Arthur feels something cold slither down his back.

"What?"

"It's the way of the Old Religion. A balance. If one life is saved, kept from its appointed, fated time of death, then another must take its place."

"No. I refuse to accept that," says Arthur. "The Goddess brought us back in order to get things right. If we do, if we succeed, then Morgana doesn't turn evil and _hundreds_ of lives are saved. I refuse to believe that we'll have to turn around and watch hundreds more die elsewhere, just to preserve some sort of balance."

"I hope you're right," says Merlin, "but either way… I can protect you, or I can protect Uther, and I know you'll hate it, but I already know which one I'm going to choose."

And Arthur does hate it, but he also knows there is no way to change Merlin's mind. "Why would you have tried to protect him before?" asks Arthur.

"Because he's your father, and you love him," Merlin answers simply. Then his expression clouds. "And you weren't ready to be king yet; _and_ you would have been even more likely to continue his purge and persecution of magic users, if Uther had died by sorcery."

Arthur blinks, taking that in. "Is everything always so complicated with you?" he asks after a pause, trying to hide his astonishment.

"Yes and no," says Merlin. "You're the center of everything, and all I care about is protecting you and seeing you as happy and safe as you deserve. Yes, you'll bring about Albion's golden age, but you're also my friend, and I'll do anything for you. Protecting your father when you can't… I may have feared him, may even have hated him a little, but he was still yours and you loved him. I wasn't going to let anything take him from you."

"And now?"

"And now, you're still the center of everything, and I'll still do anything for you, but if I have to choose between protecting you and protecting Uther… well, let's just say that I don't have to think very hard about it."

Dread settles heavy in Arthur's chest and stomach, leaving him feeling a little ill. "When Morgana first came to me about this, about her dreams," he says slowly, "she said that she didn't think all four of us would make it back. She said we'd all be in danger. I didn't stop to think what that would mean."

"Do you think we could offer to go with them to Gorlois's grave, and then tackle the Questing Beast after?"

Arthur sighs, and sits on the edge of his bed. "What explanation could we give my father for that?" he asks, and Merlin has no reply.


	15. Chapter 15

"All right, you have Excalibur already," Merlin was saying as he paced Arthur's chamber, "so that's a change. It can kill magical creatures, even the undead."

"Like the Black Knight," says Arthur.

"Yes, exactly. I won't have to enchant your weapon to defeat the Questing Beast. No obvious spells or incantations, no glowing weaponry to call attention to magic at all. But I still would feel safer if you used a spear instead of a sword. Or, hell, even a crossbow. _Anything_ to keep you from closing with that thing. If you are bitten at all, it's the Isle of the Blessed all over again, and I don't want to give Nimueh that much of an opportunity to influence our lives."

"And I won't have anyone dying in my place, just so that I can survive."

Merlin sighs, a shaky sound as if he's near to tears. "I only just got you back," he breathes. "Please don't ask me to give you up again so soon. I couldn't bear it, sire."

Arthur isn't sure what to say, so he just claps Merlin on the shoulder and gives him a little shake. _Everything will be all right_ , he thinks but does not say. _It has to be._

* * *

 

They leave a little after dawn; Morgana is dressed to ride as well, for her own journey with Uther, and she stands on the courtyard steps with a grave expression, watching them go. "Good luck," she calls, just before they mount up.

Arthur nods to her. "Safe travels," he replies. Her smile is still that small and worried thing that she's been wearing for days, and Arthur longs to find a way to banish her fears.

* * *

 

Arthur is careful this time, knowing what he does of the beast and its venomous bite. He can't bring the entire hunting pack with him this far from Camelot, and doesn't want to sacrifice any of the dogs in the first place. He can, however, equip his men with boar-spears; they have an extra long shaft, and most importantly, a crossbar that will prevent a wounded animal from running up the length of the shaft to attack in a maddened rage. They're unwieldy as hell in the forest, but if he and his men can find the Questing Beast in a lair and surround it with the spears, there's every chance they can kill it without losing a single person.

He makes sure to give one to Merlin, as well.

"I'm useless with a weapon, you know that," Merlin tries, but Arthur just rolls his eyes and gives him a flat look.

"I do remember some of what you've told me about your _abilities_ with a weapon," he says. "Hell, you could probably enchant a sharp rock and pitch the thing into the beast's eyes and it would work to kill it. A spear will be even better. Besides," he adds, raising his voice so the other knights can hear, "watching you try to maneuver that thing in the forest will keep us entertained until we are able to find the beast itself."

The men laugh, as expected, and while they are joking with one another, Arthur pushes the spear into Merlin's hands. "I want you safe," he says quietly, and this time, Merlin closes his eyes and nods.

* * *

 

Merlin rides beside Arthur, rather than at the back. He's unusually quiet, searching the forest with sharp eyes, and Arthur wonders if he ever took up hunting in the long, empty years after he left Camelot. Once, Arthur glances over and Merlin's eyes are shining gold. He takes a sharp breath.

"What are you doing?" he hisses, hoping that the other knights haven't seen.

"Looking ahead," Merlin says. His eyes are still gold, darting back and forth as he sees things Arthur can't. Arthur remembers the time when he'd been dying; Merlin had used this ability to keep them safe from the Saxons crawling all through the forest after the battle.

"Any luck?"

Merlin blinks rapidly, and the gold recedes. He turns to smile grimly at Arthur. "Not yet."

"Don't make yourself cross-eyed," says Arthur. "You'll fall off your horse and I'll have to justify bringing you along. The other knights will want to know why I don't just send you home."

"I won't fall off my horse."

* * *

 

It's about an hour later when Merlin speaks up again. "Sire. Arthur."

"What is it?"

Merlin's voice is low, and he nudges his mount closer to Arthur's so that no one else can hear them. "There's a cavern about a quarter-mile ahead, after the right-hand fork in the trail. There are enormous paw prints in the mud outside."

This is it, then. It's also the first time that Merlin has worked his magic for Arthur in this second life, without trying to keep it a secret. "Well done."

"Might not be the beast," says Merlin. "I only saw the tracks."

"Still, it's worth looking into, and if our map is at all accurate, this should be where it's been hiding." Arthur halts the party and starts unstrapping his boar spear from its place on the saddle. "We're getting close," he says aloud, and the other men begin to do the same.

They make it to the cavern, and the horses pick up on the creature's scent almost immediately. They are restless, pawing at the ground and shying, but they are well-trained warhorses apart from Merlin's mount, and they don't bolt. Arthur suspects that Merlin is _doing_ something to keep his own horse from panicking.

Everyone dismounts, as close to silently as knights in armor can be, and Arthur directs four of the men to set up a perimeter with their spears around the mouth of the cave. Merlin is kneeling over the torches they brought, lighting them one by one, his back to the others. He is also surreptitiously staring into the darkness, head down but eyes gleaming gold when Arthur comes up to check on him.

"Anything?"

Merlin shakes his head; he opens his mouth to say something, but before he does, there is a… roaring hiss, for lack of a better description, off to their right. Arthur turns just in time to see the Questing Beast break cover and charge into the clearing outside the cave. The nearest knight is too close to use his spear, so he draws his sword, but the beast is unnaturally fast and strikes like a viper, before leaping onto the man and bearing him to the ground. His armor rips like it's made of paper, under the thing's claws.

"Bedivere!"

The other knights recover from their surprise admirably quickly, using the boar spears to push the Questing Beast back, but the points don't seem to penetrate its hide.

It's too late for Bedivere, regardless.

The men strike again and again, pushing the creature back with their spears, until finally it breaks away and darts into the cave, hissing like an overflowing cauldron all the way.

"Is anyone else hurt?" demands Arthur. "Did it bite anyone?"

"No."

"No, sire."

"Only—only Bedivere, sire," chokes one younger knight, Gareth, looking as if he's about to be sick at the sight of Bedivere's remains. Everyone else is panting, their blood up from the battle, impatient to be moving.

"Right, then. Everyone into the cave. We'll split up as necessary. Bring the spears; if the chambers are large enough, we should still be able to put them to use."

"Didn't seem to do much good just now," says one man.

"They kept you out of range of its bite, didn't they?" snaps Arthur. "Nobody ever said this was going to be an easy kill."

The men pair off, and each pair takes a torch before they move into the cavern, Arthur and Merlin at the lead. At a discreet nod from Merlin, he and Arthur take the right fork; he gestures to the other men to go left.

A few steps in, all is darkness, but for Merlin's torch illuminating a space of about two paces around them. It won't be enough to see the creature coming, given its speed, and Arthur presses his lips together in annoyance as he draws his sword. If he can't see to use the spear, it will be worse than useless.

"What is it?" whispers Merlin.

"We don't have enough light."

"Yes, we do," he replies, and mutters a word under his breath. The tips of the stalactites and stalagmites around them begin to glow silver, points of light at every height all around them from below the knee to well overhead, like they are walking in the sky among the stars. Before long, the lights are bright enough to cast shadows behind Arthur in several directions. Looking over his shoulder, Arthur can see the effect extends all the way to the cave entrance; a distant exclamation suggests that the other knights are noticing it, too.

"The whole cave, Merlin?"

"Obviously an effect of the cave itself and nothing to do with any sorcerer," says the other man with a wink. He sobers, and adds, "I've been covering my tracks a long time, Arthur. Trust me to know what I'm doing."

Arthur shuts his mouth and nods; it's unnerving to see this much magic this close, knowing what Merlin is risking if he's caught, but Merlin has never tried to tell him how to wield a sword, so he's not going to try and tell Merlin how to use his magic.

They move further into the cave, the smell of the beast growing stronger in Arthur's nostrils, until finally the passage opens out into a chamber wide enough for them to maneuver.

The Questing Beast is waiting for them.

It leaps at Arthur and he raises his blade, but before it can strike, Merlin steps in front of him—

"No!" cries Arthur—

—and does _something_ with his magic that causes the Questing Beast to snap its jaws shut on empty air, a full foot in front of them. But Merlin was so focused on its bite that he must have forgotten what its claws can do, because in the next instant he is batted aside with a force like a battering ram, flying through the air to land against a stone pillar with a coughed cry of pain.

Before Merlin has hit the floor, Arthur has already stepped forward and slashed the beast's throat open with Excalibur.

Blood sprays, blinding him temporarily, and he swings again with his eyes closed just to make sure the creature stays out of range. He hears it move, claws clicking against stone, before it falls over with a meaty thud.

When he blinks his eyes open again, the Questing Beast lies dead.

Arthur is shaking with the rush of battle, incredulous that it is over so quickly. Something scrapes across the gritty floor, and Arthur spins, but it is only Merlin, dragging his booted feet as he curls onto his side, into a little ball of pain.

"Merlin." Arthur drops to his knees beside his friend, with no recollection of the steps between. "Merlin! Can you hear me?"

Merlin is gasping for breath where the impact with the pillar knocked the wind out of him, but he nods. He is grimacing with the pain, but after a second his eyes open and he meets Arthur's gaze. He's awake, and aware, and for the moment that is all Arthur cares about.

Merlin's mouth works for a second. "…beast?" he manages to say finally, still struggling to get his breath back.

"Dead."

"Bite you?"

"No. I'm fine. You're the one who stepped in front of it like a madman or an idiot."

"Maybe—both," wheezes Merlin, then grins. "Ow."

"Oh, does it hurt? Maybe next time you'll think twice before doing something so stupid. You could have been killed."

"Not me." Before Arthur can really think through the implications of that, Merlin raises a hand, and Arthur moves back to pull him up to a sitting position. Merlin grimaces again, but lifts both arms to rest his hands on his head. It seems to help his breathing.

"Anything broken?"

"Don't think so." Merlin shakes his head, then carefully twists from side to side. He coughs once, then says, "No. Bruised pretty good, though."

"I've no doubt."

"Sire!" Sir Henri calls from the passage leading into their chamber. "Your Highness? We heard you cry out."

"It's safe," he calls back. "The Questing Beast is dead."

One by one, the other men come clattering into the chamber. They hold their torches high amid the artificial starlight, getting a good look at the carcass and at Arthur, where he's helping Merlin to his feet. They look at the pair a little strangely, and while Arthur doesn't want to care, the truth is, their reactions matter. If word gets back to the king…

"I'm not sure if you're brave, or reckless, Merlin," he says, brushing dust carefully off the other mans' shoulders. "Or merely stupid."

"Probably stupid, sire," grunts Merlin. He holds himself stiff and straight, and grimaces again as he takes his first steps. "God knows why I keep trying to save your life when you're such an arse…"

"Especially given that it's my job to save yours, you dolt."

This time, Merlin's grimace looks more like a grin. The other knights laugh, and Arthur allows himself to relax.

"What happened, sire?" asks Gareth. Arthur thinks quickly.

" _Merlin_ , here, decided that if he had a spear he might as well use it," he says. "He's too slow to be a real fighter, of course, but when the beast charged, his spear was already set. It held the creature back long enough for me to get my shot in, but the damned thing didn't like that much. Batted him into the pillar like a cat with a mouse."

A couple of the men wince and nod, having felt similar blows during training. "Well done, then, sire. And… your servant, too," says Henri.

"We should go," says another. He gestures at the points of light all around them. "This isn't natural."

"And we'll need to collect Bedivere's remains, and the horses," sighs Gareth.

"I'm sorry," says Arthur, and the other men nod soberly. "I know he was a friend to you all. Bedivere was a good man. Gareth, if you are looking for examples to follow of what a knight should be, follow his."

"Yes, sire." Gareth picks up the spear that Merlin dropped, and one by one they make their way out of the cavern and, eventually, back toward Camelot.

* * *

 

They're moving slowly, with Bedivere's body wrapped in his cloak and slung over the back of his horse, and Merlin sitting stiffly in the saddle, wincing at every jolt in the road and clutching at his saddle with white knuckles. It's nearly sunset when they spot a pair of knights up ahead on the road. The other men see them too, and raise their arms and shout.

"What do you think that's about?" asks Merlin, as the pair spurs toward them at a gallop.

"I don't know, but it's probably not good," says Arthur.

"Sire." It's Sir Leon, who was to be part of the escort for Uther and Morgana this morning, to visit Gorlois's grave. Arthur's heart sinks, and as he glances at Merlin, he can tell that the other man is thinking the same thing he is. "It's your father. And the Lady Morgana."

Arthur closes his eyes for a moment, and prays that Morgana has not murdered Uther. He opens them again, and turns back to Leon. "Tell me."

Leon pauses, his face pale. There is a cut over his forehead that Arthur hadn't noticed at first. He swallows once, twice, then says hoarsely, "We got them back to Camelot, to Gaius, as quickly as we could, but… Gaius says the king does not have long to live."

There are gasps throughout their party of knights, and murmurs of concern. "And Morgana?"

"She remains unconscious, sire. Or, she was still unconscious when we left to find you."

Arthur nods decisively, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart. "Gareth, Henri, the rest of you, stay with Bedivere; bring him along as quickly as you can. Merlin—"

"I'm coming with you."

"You're injured; you can barely ride as it is."

"Gaius might need me," says Merlin, which is a terrible excuse, but it's also true. If Merlin as a physician or a sorcerer can help his father…

"Fine. Leon, lead the way."

They urge their horses to a gallop, tearing back up the road to Camelot as fast as their mounts and the fading light will allow.


	16. Chapter 16

They ride hard back to Camelot, too hard for speech; it's only once they've dismounted in the courtyard that Arthur is able to get the full report from Leon.

"We were attacked by the sorcerer, Tauren, and his followers," he explains, as they enter the castle. "At Gorlois's grave. I'm sorry, sire." Arthur glances over, and sees Leon staring at him with a stricken expression. "I failed to protect them, and I will willingly take any punishment you deem fit."

"Nonsense," says Arthur. "I know you, Leon." Better than Leon likely realized. "I am sure you did everything in your power to protect them."

Leon shakes his head. "We were taken by surprise and thrown back with sorcery. Felt like being kicked by a horse," he adds, rubbing absently at his ribcage. "When I was able to move again, it was already too late."

"Tauren escaped?"

"No. That's the strange thing. When I made it back to the grave site, Tauren was already dead, lying near His Majesty and the Lady Morgana. I suppose Uther must have fought him, but there was no mark on the body."

Arthur frowns and glances at Merlin. The other man is visibly in pain, having ridden hard with his injury, but he is watching Arthur's face and gives a quick shake of his head. Apparently he doesn't have an answer as to what might have happened, either.

Again, Arthur prays that Morgana hasn't killed the king.

* * *

 

A servant informs Arthur that the king and his ward are being treated in Uther's own chambers, so the three of them make their way there. Merlin is barely able to keep up; Arthur knows he should hurry ahead—his father reportedly does not have much longer, and may already be gone—but he cannot bear to leave his friend behind.

"Ah, sire," says Gaius, when they finally arrive. Leon bows and discreetly positions himself at the door, while Arthur and Merlin continue inside. "I am glad that Sir Leon was able to find you so quickly."

"What news, Gaius?" asks Arthur, pulling off his gloves.

"I'm afraid it isn't good, sire." The elderly physician looks grim, in a way he rarely does, and Arthur already knows in his gut that there is nothing the man can do. "Do you wish to sit down?"

"Just tell me, Gaius."

Gaius sighs, and hangs his head for a moment. "Uther's back was broken in the attack, Arthur," he says gently. "It is not an injury I can treat. There is nothing I can do but ease his pain… or, if he consents, end his suffering."

Arthur closes his eyes, and swallows in a mouth gone metallic-tasting and dry. "How long does he have?"

"The king is paralyzed from the chest down; the knights rigged a litter for him, thankfully, but even so it is a miracle he survived the return journey to the castle. Breathing is a conscious effort for him, now, rather than reflex, and eventually he will… grow too fatigued to continue. Forgive me, sire, but I give him at most a few hours before he simply won't be able to carry on." Gaius pauses. "He's been asking for you; I suspect that he's been hanging on for your sake. He'll… I hate to say this, but it is likely that he will deteriorate quickly, now that you've come. Once he's said what he needs to say to you…" Gaius shakes his head, and Arthur understands.

"What about Morgana?"

"I am unsure, sire. She appears to be uninjured, yet she will not wake. I am conducting tests, of course, but since it was a sorcerer who attacked them, as yet I cannot rule out the possibility that she has been enchanted or cursed in some fashion."

"I can," says Merlin quietly.

Gaius's eyes widen, and he immediately looks to see that the door behind them is shut. "Merlin?" His voice is a hushed whisper, and he glances at Arthur sidelong, nervously.

"I can look into her memories while she's unconscious," says Merlin, "and determine exactly what happened, from her point of view. If there was a spell cast at her, I'll be able to hear the exact wording that Tauren used, and from there we can work to reverse it." He looks Arthur in the eye, and Arthur realizes that he'll also be able to tell whether Morgana conspired with Tauren to kill the king. He'll be able to tell whether or not she is innocent of his murder.

"Do it," Arthur says. "I will be with my father."

"Sire, are you certain?" Gaius, that bastion of calm and rationality, seems more frightened than Arthur has ever imagined him capable of being. He lowers his voice even further. "Merlin told me that you knew of his… _abilities_ ," he says, "but I hadn't expected that you would embrace their use. After all that Uther has taught you—"

"I am not my father," Arthur replies, just as quietly. "And I know that his persecution of magic users is unjust. More than that, I trust Merlin." Merlin, for his part, might not trust Morgana, but Arthur knows he will still do his best to treat her fairly. In this life, as far as they know, she has done nothing wrong. Merlin has confessed to Arthur that he has his own regrets where Morgana is concerned, although he has refused to go into detail; Arthur is hopeful that in this life, this second chance that he and Merlin have been given, she will get a fresh opportunity, too. "As I said: I will be with my father."

Gaius bows; Merlin nods solemnly in that way he has when Arthur most needs the reassurance, and they step into the adjoining room, behind the privacy screen, to where Morgana presumably lies unconscious.

Arthur steels himself, then approaches his father's bed.

The king lies flat on his back, with no pillow, and still in the clothes he rode out in; apparently Gaius has been reluctant to move Uther even enough to disrobe him. His chest rises and falls, barely, but there is no other motion, until the king spots Arthur out of the corner of his eye. Then his hand twitches, and he lifts it just enough to beckon Arthur closer.

"My son," he whispers, and the sound is painful for Arthur to hear.

"I'm here, Father," he says. "I came as quickly as I could."

Uther swallows, and Arthur casts about until he sees the ewer of water and goblet sitting beside the bed on their little table. He fills the goblet with a few mouthfuls, not wanting to spill any.

"Is it safe to lift your head?" he asks.

"Safe enough."

With the utmost care and gentleness, Arthur cups his father's head in one hand, and lifts just enough so that he can tip the contents of the goblet into Uther's mouth. Uther drinks slowly, a bare sip at a time, but Arthur is patient and follows his father's lead, in this as he has in so many other things throughout his life.

When the water is gone, Arthur sits in the chair, and Uther watches him for a long moment. "I have s… so much to… tell you," he whispers. "Before I go."

"Father, no, don't say that—" But Uther cuts him off with a glare.

"We both know… I am not 'go… going to be fine'," he says. His breath catches on every other word. "Do not w-waste what… little time we ha… have left together… on platitudes."

As he has almost always done, Arthur looks away first. "I'm sorry."

"No time for that, either." Uther reaches up and cups Arthur's cheek. His fingers are cold, and the touch is too gentle. _Weak_ , Arthur realizes. "There is… so much… I need to tell you."

"I'm listening."

"I was not… a good father to… to you," Uther whispers, and Arthur's heart clenches. He fears he has heard this confession once before, and he isn't sure if he can bear to hear it again. "I put the… needs of the king… kingdom first. But I al… _always_ _…_ loved you."

"I know, Father," he says. "I do know. You don't need to reassure me on that account."

Uther blinks once, slowly, as if the gesture will suffice for a nod. "Morgana… do not marry… she is your sis… sister."

"My sister?" asks Arthur, although he already knows this. He learned it in his first life, though Uther could never have realized that.

"Gorlois… away at battle… Vivienne… I was to pr… protect her. She was so afraid. We sought comfort… in one another. Foolish. Gorlois was… my best friend. But it brought us Morgana. Gorlois… never knew."

"And my mother?"

Uther gives the barest shake of his head. Arthur assumes that means she never knew, either, which was probably a blessing. She never realized her husband had been unfaithful to her.

Unexpectedly, Uther smiles. "I will see her again soon," he says. "You look… so like her. Her hair. Her eyes." He lets his hand slide down from Arthur's face to touch his chest. "Her heart."

Arthur swallows again, twice, struggling to hold his tears at bay as he catches his father's hand. "You never spoke of her," he says. "Please."

Uther's smile softens. "So painful… to be parted from her. I never told you… of your own mother… to spare myself. For that… I am sorry."

"Will you tell me now?"

"One thing first," says Uther. "Summon… Geoffrey."

It is all Arthur can do to stand up and turn his back on his father long enough to open the chamber door and send Leon for the archivist. To his surprise, Leon only takes a few steps before Geoffrey is there, apparently already on his way up the hallway before he'd been called.

"The king requires your presence," Arthur says formally, and Geoffrey bows before slipping past. Arthur closes the door once more and follows.

"Sire."

"Geoffrey. You know my wi… wishes."

"I do, sire. Your final will and testament; I have it here." Geoffrey holds up a scroll case that Arthur has never seen before, sealed with the Pendragon crest. Even without hearing Geoffrey's words, Arthur would have known that whatever document is inside was important, judging by the ribbons and other seals that hang from the case. "Do you have any amendments you wish to make to it?"

"No. Arthur is my heir. He shall… succeed me. With my blessing. Morgana… her own estates. To marry as she wishes." He swallows again and gestures, visibly tiring, for Geoffrey to hand the scroll to Arthur. "Read… promise me…"

"I swear it, Father. I'll read it later. Not now."

"Not now."

"Will there be anything else, sire?" Geoffrey asks. Arthur almost thinks he hears a tremor in the older man's voice.

"You've served me long a… and faithfully," Uther whispers. "Serve my son… as well."

"I shall, sire. You have my word."

Again, that slow blink from Uther. "Thank you, Geoffrey."

Geoffrey stands and bows. "Long live the king," he says, heartfelt, not taking his eyes from Uther's face until the other man gives him a satisfied smile. Only then does he straighten, nod once, and take himself out of the room; Arthur does not watch, but hears the door open and shut behind him as he takes his seat again.

"Not much longer now," says Uther, as Arthur takes his hand again.

"Father—"

"I am ready." His hand, cold, so cold, twitches in Arthur's grasp, then squeezes. "Had hoped to gi… give you a few more years."

And Arthur has already ruled Camelot for ten years, but there is still a trembling little boy within him that feels overwhelmed and unprepared. "Do you think I am ready?"

"Yes. Yes, you are, my son."

He blinks back tears. "I shall miss you."

"I shall… watch over you." Which shouldn't give Arthur a chill, but knowing what he does of his father's beliefs, he finds he is not as reassured as Uther probably meant him to be. "One thing… you must remember."

"Yes, Father?"

"Sorcery did this… to me. _Sorcery_ ," he says, breath wheezing. "You must not… relent. You have… a kind heart. Too kind… sometimes. Do not… let yourself be swayed… from the truth. Sorcery… must be eradi-… eradicated from Camelot."

Arthur takes a deep breath. "I swear to you, Father, that I will do all in my power to protect Camelot's people from those who would do them harm."

The king may be dying, but unlike the last time, his mind is as sharp as ever. "Sorcerers?"

"From all those who would do Camelot harm," Arthur says firmly. Uther's eyes narrow, but Arthur will not be cowed, not even by a dying man's last wish. "Tell me of my mother," he says. "No one else will speak to me of her; why?"

"Her death was… sorcery," says the king. "I was tricked."

 _Were you?_ Arthur wonders, but he says aloud, "How?"

"It does not matter."

"It does to me, Father."

Uther breathes deeply once, twice. "Your vision."

Arthur remembers telling Uther that his memories were a vision, to explain the things he knew in this second life that he had no business knowing. "Yes."

"Tell me."

Arthur takes a deep breath. "You and my mother were unable to conceive," he says quietly. "You sought a solution in magic, and were told that in order to create a life, another life must be taken in exchange. That the Old Religion requires a balance."

Uther says nothing.

"You agreed to the bargain, and my mot—my mother was the one to die in my place." Arthur blinks away tears. "In my vision, Ygraine didn't know about the bargain you made. And you either didn't care that someone had to die in order for me to be born, or didn't realize that my mother would be the one to pay the price."

"Nimueh tricked me!" Uther rasps, as close to a shout as he can get on his deathbed.

"Did she?" Arthur shakes his head at Uther's murderous expression. "I do not accuse, Father. I only wish to know the truth. It is my birthright."

"…I did not tell Ygraine," Uther confesses.

"So you bargained with her life, and lost," says Arthur sadly. "And rather than face your own guilt and grief, rather even than blaming Nimueh alone, you blamed all of magic. Men, women, _children_ , Father. How many have you murdered in an attempt to purge your own sorrow?"

"Magic corrupts…"

"I think power corrupts, and magic is one form of power," Arthur says slowly. "But so is a sword. And just as there are those who abuse magic, there are those who abuse their power over others with a sword. Just as you abused your power over others as king, to slaughter innocent people."

"Magic cost me Ygraine!"

"And it gave you _me._ But for all that you claim to love me, you've never been able to _see_ me past the specter of my mother's death, have you?"

Uther's eyes widen, and he swallows. "My son."

"Growing up, I always thought I was nothing but a disappointment to you," says Arthur, the words clawing their way free of his heart. "I never knew why until I learned of the bargain you made. I'm not Ygraine, and I will never be enough to replace her… even though the balance of the Old Religion intended that I do exactly that."

"Arthur…" Uther's expression is one of love, and heartbreak, and it nearly undoes Arthur to know that he is the cause of it. These are not the things they should be speaking of, with his father on his deathbed. For an instant he sorely regrets refusing to lie to his father about continuing the purge. "Arthur, no. I was… harsh… demanding… but never doubt… I loved you. I love you still. You are all I have left… of Ygraine. And I cherish that."

A tear breaks free and drips down Arthur's cheek. "Tell me of her," he pleads. "Tell me what my mother was like."

Uther reaches up, the motion feeble and shaky, and brushes away the tear. Then he smiles. "She was beautiful," he begins. "With a great heart. Like yours," he adds, and closes his eyes as if reminiscing. With another shallow, laboring breath, he opens them again. "Brave. So brave. So much more than… an arranged alliance. She was never afraid of me."

Arthur listens as Uther talks, his whispers growing ever fainter and his breaths shallower, as he extols Ygraine's virtues, telling Arthur of the mother he'd never had the privilege to know. He even makes Arthur laugh through his tears, with a story of their awkward courtship. It seems Arthur isn't the only one with no idea how to talk to girls.

Perhaps half an hour goes by, perhaps less, before Uther stops. "I'm sorry," he says; his voice is barely audible.

"No," Arthur replies. "No, don't be. This is more than I ever hoped for."

"Would that… I could gi-… give you more," whispers Uther. "Would that we ha-… had more time."

"I'll miss you," says Arthur. This much, he knows is true.

His father's lips are tinged blue when he smiles. "You will do well," he says. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Father. I do."

Uther gives him that slow blink in place of a nod.

"Is there anything you need?" Arthur asks.

"Only… to rest," says the king. "Stay… stay with me."

"Of course, Father. Till the very end."

Uther's eyes slip shut. He is breathing, still, but Arthur knows it will not be for much longer.

He sits back and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, and sees Merlin out of the corner of his eye, standing back, granting them privacy. He is wringing his hands together, expression grieved, and Arthur swallows.

"Is there anything you can do?" he asks, glancing nervously back at his father to see if he heard; but Uther is either unconscious or too weak to respond, and Merlin shakes his head. Arthur takes a deep breath and releases it in a long, slow sigh. "I'd thought not." If Gaius, if the physician's arts, could do nothing, perhaps magic could, but given the severity of the king's injury, everyone would know that he had been healed by no natural means.

"I'm sorry," says Merlin. He steps toward Arthur, then his breath hitches and he covers a wince.

"You're injured, too," Arthur remembers.

"It's nothing."

Arthur shakes his head. He's sure it isn't nothing, but Merlin has always been loyal to a fault. Arthur knows he won't leave now, when he thinks Arthur might need him. "Morgana?"

To his surprise, Merlin smiles, and his shoulders drop visibly. "She'll be all right," he says. "She should wake soon. Everything is… everything's fine."

"You're sure?" he asks. He glances toward Uther significantly, and Merlin nods. A tension that Arthur hadn't realized he was carrying unravels in his stomach, and he sighs. "So, she didn't…?"

"She didn't. I'm sure of it."

"Tell me later," Arthur says. He'll need something positive to take his mind off of Uther's death. "For now, go and rest."

"Of course, sire," says Merlin. He shuffles forward to squeeze Arthur's shoulder. "Everything is fine." he repeats. "Or, it will be. Everything will be all right."

"Thank you, Merlin." Arthur brings his free hand up to Merlin's and squeezes once before letting go. "Go and rest."

And Merlin leaves Arthur, shutting the door quietly behind him, so that the prince can listen to his father's last breaths alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be sure to visit [my Tumblr](http://peaceheather.tumblr.com) and say hello!


	17. Chapter 17

Arthur has no idea how much time has passed when he finally stands and steps away from his father's deathbed… his father's corpse. An instant; an eternity. It could be both, for all he knows. Gaius is there, of course, and says something to him about preparing the body, but Arthur hardly hears, just nods and leaves him to it as he opens and closes the door to his father's chambers and stands in the corridor, just breathing.

He opens his eyes, and Merlin is there.

"I thought I told you to go and get some rest," says Arthur. His voice is hoarse and seems too loud for the silence of the castle; there are torches lit and it is dark outside, but he can't be sure what time it really is.

"I didn't want you to feel as if you were alone," replies Merlin, and Arthur can't help the sad smile that crosses his face, and the memory of their first life together. It's been hundreds of years for Merlin; Arthur wonders if he remembers, too, or if time has erased that for him.

"I thought… I thought we'd have more time," he says, then has to close his eyes again to hold back the tears that threaten. "A few more years, at least. Even if Morgana—"

"She didn't," reassures Merlin.

"But even if she had," Arthur insists. "We should have had more time."

Merlin sighs. "I know. I'm sorry."

Arthur nods, taking comfort where he can find it, and turns toward his chambers. The trip seems to take longer than it ever has before; Merlin walks beside him in silence, and Arthur appreciates it more than he can say.

Once they're inside, Merlin closes the door behind him and begins stripping Arthur of his armor. In all his time sitting with Uther, he'd forgotten he was wearing it.

" _Was_ there anything you could have done?" he asks.

Merlin's hands still for a moment before he resumes his work. "Not really," he says sadly. "Or. Well, maybe. But not with any ordinary medicine, not even from hundreds of years in the future. He would have known that magic was used to heal him, and that's even if it worked at all. I've… never really tried with an injury that severe; perhaps if we'd gotten to him in the first few moments after the attack…" He shakes his head. "But we didn't, and I'm sorry."

"Don't." Arthur's hands come up to touch Merlin's, and then he lets go and looks away. "Don't beat yourself up over something you never did. It was my decision not to try."

"You did ask if I could do anything."

"I didn't really expect you to be able to. It's just as you said. Everyone would have known sorcery was involved. And it'd be just like him to survive and then still want to execute whoever saved him."

"He'd have to catch me first," says Merlin, and his smile is just as sad and small as Arthur's, but it's better than nothing.

"I just… I thought we'd have more time," says Arthur in a small voice, and then there are tears on his cheeks and his vision is blurry.

Merlin is just enough taller than Arthur to wrap his arms around him and pull him close, and Arthur is just tired and broken enough to allow it.

* * *

 

Arthur weeps, but gets himself back under control swiftly enough. He's embarrassed for just a moment, until he remembers that this is Merlin, who had held him as he'd died, seen him at his best and worst, and never spilled secrets or gossip to anyone about it.

When he's finished, Merlin pulls back and studies his face. "Let's get you cleaned up," he says softly. "You've got dried blood from the Questing Beast all over you, even in your hair; I'm surprised no one said anything before now."

Arthur's shoulders twitch in something not quite a shrug. "Different priorities, I guess," he says. "Considering."

"Yeah. Considering." Arthur sits, and Merlin putters about the room until he's gathered a washbasin and pitcher, and a clean cloth and towel. "Is it all right if I…?" He wiggles his fingers, and Arthur frowns. "To heat the water?"

Ah. Arthur nods and watches as his friend's eyes flash gold, just for a bare instant; then he pours the water into the basin and drops the washcloth in. Arthur closes his eyes and allows Merlin to clean the dried blood and gore off his face and neck and hands. Both the hot water and the gesture itself are soothing, and Arthur wishes briefly that he could keep his eyes closed and never have to open them again. But he's been born and bred to duty and responsibility, and has already died once; it's not in him to lie down and give up without a fight now, not when he has work to do.

Tomorrow he will be named king. The coronation won't be for at least a month, but he will be king… and his first acts will be to oversee the funerals for Sir Bedivere and his father, one right after the other.

"What of Morgana?" he asks, to take his mind off their deaths.

"It's good news," says Merlin. "Or at least, I think it is. You might disagree, I suppose—"

"Merlin. Just tell me. You said she didn't kill Father."

"She didn't."

"And you're certain of this?"

Merlin nods decisively, and it's more reassuring than Arthur wants to admit. "I looked into her memories, as I said. I saw what she saw."

"Which was what?"

Merlin lifts his chin a little, as if looking into the distance, then shuts his eyes. "They were talking at Gorlois's grave, when Tauren and his men surrounded them." His voice is dreamy and distant as he recounts the tale. "The knights tried to come to Uther and Morgana's defense, but Tauren threw them back. Morgana screamed and pulled a dagger; one of Tauren's men grabbed her. Tauren stood over Uther and laughed. He said something that Morgana couldn't hear, and then threw him into Gorlois's headstone. She heard the crack; she remembered her vision that we would all be in danger and maybe not all come back. She screamed again and her magic took over—"

"Her _magic_?" She definitely hadn't turned to sorcery this early, had she?

Merlin opens his eyes and meets Arthur's gaze honestly. "Well, you know she's a Seer already, right? That her dreams are visions that come true sometimes?"

"Yes, but I thought she studied sorcery later."

Merlin shakes his head. "No, sorry. It came upon her, unasked. She didn't go looking for it. She only went looking for a way to control it. That's where Morgause came in. She helped Morgana get the dreams under control and taught her how to use her magic, but the magic was already there."

Arthur takes a deep breath, letting that information settle in. "So she has magic now."

"And she never knew it. In her first life, it manifested after a nightmare, if I remember correctly. But here, it manifested today, when she screamed. She was afraid and angry, and untrained magic usually is linked to strong emotions. Her magic lashed out and threw Tauren the same way that he'd thrown Uther, only harder."

"That's why Leon said there was no mark on his body," muses Arthur.

Merlin nods again. "Remember how he said it felt like he'd been kicked by a horse? She hit Tauren hard enough to kill him." He frowns, and adds, "You'll have to ask Leon for his full report to see if she got anyone else. We've only talked about Tauren, but she might have killed his other followers, too. She was only looking at him, so she doesn't have any memory of doing that to anyone else."

"All right," says Arthur, "so why is she unconscious?"

Merlin actually smiles a little. "She's a brand new sorceress who's never used her magic before. She overexerted herself, her first time, and with no real control over the magic, there was a backlash of energy that hit her pretty hard too. She knocked herself out. She'll probably wake up with a hell of a headache."

"But she definitely didn't kill Father?" Arthur can't help but press. He has to be certain.

"She definitely didn't," says Merlin. "In fact… well, she couldn't save him, but she's probably responsible for his living long enough for you to say goodbye."

"Otherwise Tauren would have finished him off." Arthur is certain of this. At best, he'd have killed off the knights and left Uther to breathe his last alone by his best friend's grave, helplessly staring up at the sky, unable even to call for help as he died. He shivers at the thought.

"Probably," says Merlin. "And she probably saved the rest of the knights, too. Leon, the others, they might not have made it."

Arthur takes another deep breath and lets it out slowly. His shoulders drop, releasing a tension he hadn't quite realized he still carried. "That's good to know," he says. "I still want to question Morgana when she wakes. See if there is anything else she remembers." _See if she tries to hide anything from me_ , he thinks.

"She probably won't tell you everything, you know," says Merlin, as if reading _his_ thoughts. "Magic is still illegal. And she might not know Uther is dead. She'll be afraid."

Arthur thinks that over, then nods. "Fair enough, I suppose. I don't have to like it."

Merlin stands, a little stiffly thanks to his injuries, and gathers up the dirty rag and washbasin, to empty later. He's chewing his lip, lost in thought.

"What are you thinking about?" Arthur can't help but ask.

"Hm. Oh. It's nothing. Just a realization I came to, earlier."

"Merlin." He's doing it again, being evasive, hiding his true feelings from Arthur, and Arthur is not interested in hearing any more lies if he can help it. "Out with it."

"What?" Merlin seems to come back to the room and realize what has Arthur annoyed. "Sorry," he says with a little smile. "Force of habit, I guess."

Arthur just waves for him to get on with it.

"I just… when I first came back, when I realized I had a chance to protect you again, I resolved a little bit not to trust anyone to get too close to you. People have hurt you, betrayed you, who we thought were your friends or your family. Your closest colleagues."

"Like Mordred," says Arthur, rubbing absently at the place where he'd been stabbed, and where he now carries no scar.

"And like Morgana," Merlin agrees. "I know Morgause hasn't come yet, I know Morgana hasn't really turned on us, but I still couldn't help but expect her to do so, and sooner rather than later. But… I looked into her _memories_ , Arthur. It's… I was feeling pretty ruthless, and it's delicate work, and I ended up seeing more than you asked me to look for. If your mind isn't absolutely clear," he explains, "your own thoughts will influence what memories are brought to the surface."

"All right." Arthur isn't sure he really follows that, but for the sake of getting to the point, he won't ask.

"My mind wasn't clear. I was thinking of how much I didn't trust her. And the memories that came up… she truly cares about you, right now. And she's angry with Uther but she cares about him too. She doesn't know he's her father, of course, but she still cares what he thinks of her. Her dreams frighten her, and she's not at all sure what he would think if he knew that they came true sometimes. She's so scared, already, and this is even before knowing she has magic. And I just… I was thinking about it afterward, and I realized, this is another way for me to get a second chance."

"The Disir gave us a second chance already," says Arthur.

"Yes, but I would have squandered it," Merlin replies. "The mistakes I made aren't going to be fixed by refusing to trust people; in fact, most of the mistakes I made the first time around were _caused_ by keeping secrets, rather than opening up and being honest and trusting you and Morgana and Gwen and everyone else to be fair with me. I wasn't fair with you, holding back as much as I did. I mean," he adds, "I still really worried that you'd chop my head off if you found out, which sort of trumps everything else, but even so. I was prepared to make the same sorts of mistakes all over again and waste this chance I've been given, in the name of protecting you."

Arthur sighs, and looks down at his hands, trying to think how to answer him. "When I first learned of your magic, my first thought was that I didn't know you at all. How could I trust someone I'd never even truly known?"

"I know."

"Do you? It took time for me to see that the magic was only part of who you are, and it took more time to realize that I still had most of you even if I'd never had all of you. But Merlin, I can't go back to that. I can't go back to you keeping secrets from me, and making decisions that concern me, or Camelot, without even involving me in the discussion. I have a right to be involved in matters that concern my life or the fate of the kingdom. Do you understand that?"

It was Merlin's turn to look away. "I do," he said quietly. Then he met Arthur's gaze again, fearlessly. "And that's what I realized, after looking into Morgana's memories. So much will be different if I only _decide_ it is, instead of trying to do all the same things as before, only with even more caution and less trust. Morgana is _innocent,_ at this point in time. It took her memories to prove that to me, but I'm convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt. She won't betray us, if we don't betray her first."

"How did we betray her the first time around?" He's pretty sure he never would have turned his back on his sister, even if he'd found out about the magic before she'd sided with Morgause.

There's a long pause before Merlin says, "You may not have, but I did. In several ways great and small. And the first was by not being there for her when she came to me, terrified that she had magic in Uther's household."

"So this time?" Arthur prompts.

"This time, it will be different. This time, when she wakes, I'm going to tell her what happened. She won't—forgive me, sire, but—she won't have Uther to fear anymore, and if you can convince her that she doesn't need to fear you…"

"Then she has no motivation to turn away from us," says Arthur.

"Yes, exactly."

Arthur nods, thinking, and can only hope that Merlin is right.

* * *

 

Arthur sleeps, and the next day is woken by a Merlin who is still quiet, still respectful of Arthur's loss, and yet at the same time more cheerful and talkative than Arthur has seen in weeks. He is more like his younger self, Arthur realizes, and the thought gives him a pang, to see the marked difference in his friend's personality when he doesn't have the weight of the world bearing down on his shoulders. When he is filled with hope and life again, instead of worry and despair.

"You're in a good mood," he says, wondering what Merlin's reaction will be.

"I've been given a second chance to do everything right," says Merlin, sweeping the curtains open and moving to Arthur's wardrobe to pick out clothing. "I won't fail you this time."

"You didn't fail me before," Arthur points out. "We've had this discussion more than once, you know."

"I know. I suppose we'll just have to agree to disagree." He pulls a white shirt out of the wardrobe, then looks at it and his shoulders slump. "Oh. No, this won't do at all. You'll need to be in mourning."

Arthur takes a deep breath; he'd been carefully not thinking of his father's death since waking, and had almost succeeded for a full minute. "How is it that I've lived through this once already, and it still hurts just as much as the first time did?" he asks quietly.

Merlin shakes his head. "Wish I could tell you. I've lived too long, and it still never really gets any easier to lose someone you care about. I wish I could tell you it does, but it doesn't." One corner of his mouth quirks up. "Being a hermit in the woods is not the answer, though, I _can_ tell you that much."

"Something you tried?" asks Arthur, amused despite himself.

"Yes," says Merlin, and just like that, the amusement is gone.

"I'm sorry," says Arthur.

Merlin only shrugs, then takes a deep breath, visibly pulling himself together. "Hopefully it'll be a while before I try it again, now that you're here," he says. "You, and Gwen, and Gaius, and my mum, and everyone else." His eyes flash, and the white shirt he's holding turns black for mourning. "Will this do?"

"I don't have that many white shirts," Arthur says dryly. He's still not used to seeing magic used in front of him, never mind for such mundane things.

"You have _five_ ," says Merlin. "Well. Four, now. But if you really hate it, I can turn it back, but you really should wear something… appropriate."

Arthur sighs, and gestures for Merlin to pass him the shirt.

"Merlin," he says. He waits for the other man to look him in the eye. "Thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to swing by [my Tumblr](http://peaceheather.tumblr.com) and say hello.


	18. Chapter 18

As soon as he has finished breakfast, Arthur makes sure he has the scroll Geoffrey had entrusted to him the night before, and makes his way to Morgana's chambers, Merlin by his side. He's hoping Morgana will be well enough to have this conversation, sooner rather than later. Merlin winces when he stands, but otherwise moves easily enough down the hallway with him.

"You seem better this morning," he remarks.

"I told you it was nothing serious," replies Merlin. "My entire back is one enormous bruise, but it's nothing worse than that. Some of Gaius's salve and a little careful—er, _you know_ —and I'm well enough to carry out my duties."

A little careful magic, he means. The idea is intriguing. "You can do that?" he asks. "Heal yourself?"

"Well, I'm not very good at it really," Merlin replies. He lowers his voice. "I can speed along my own recovery from things, and of course nothing can kill me, but as for helping other people…" He sighs. "I've had time to practice it and I've gotten better, but it's still not my greatest strength, magically speaking."

Arthur nods. "You could still take the morning and rest," he points out. "I'm not leaving the palace or entertaining guests; there's no real reason for you to stay with me."

"You're going to talk to Morgana," Merlin says simply. "I need to be there for that."

"Yes, I suppose you do."

They reach Morgana's door, and Arthur knocks softly. His sister may not be awake yet, or may still be suffering the aftereffects of yesterday's ordeal. Gwen opens the door a moment later, only a crack, and behind her Arthur can see only darkness.

"My lord," she says quietly, dropping into a curtsey.

"Good morning, Guinevere," he says. "I need to speak to Morgana."

Gwen bites her lip and looks over her shoulder. "She's really not feeling well…"

"I imagine not, after yesterday," says Arthur, "but it's important. I assure you I would not disturb her rest otherwise."

"Just a moment." Gwen pushes the door closed, and he hears her speaking, too quietly to make out the words. After a pause, the door opens again, and she ushers them in. The room is just as dark as Arthur has suspected, all the curtains drawn shut and only a single lamp for light, with the wick trimmed low. "My lady's head is bothering her," murmurs Gwen. "If you could keep your voices down…"

"Of course." He's been concussed before, and he knows exactly how miserable the days after can be until healing begins. If this were a mere hangover, he might tease, but then, if this were a mere hangover, the situation would be entirely different. "Morgana."

"Arthur." Her voice is coming from the bed, and Gwen ties the curtains back as they approach. She sounds half-dead, and Arthur can't help but wince a little. "What are you doing here?"

She also sounds afraid, now that she's in no condition to posture or hide her emotions from him.

"I wasn't sure if you and Gwen had the latest news," he says, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking her hand. "Father is—" He has to stop and swallow, and it is only the feel of Merlin's hand on his shoulder that allows him to continue with a steady voice. "Father is dead."

Behind him, Gwen gasps. He is sure she must have heard the news last night, sometime when they were moving Morgana to her chambers from Uther's, but she must not have told Morgana yet. Or perhaps she had heard conflicting rumors.

Morgana, though, only squeezes his hand. "I feared as much," she says. "And I'm sorry. There was a sorcerer… there was nothing I could do."

"I know," says Arthur, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. "I know you would have fought them if you could. Will you tell me what happened?"

She shifts on the bed, and Gwen is there in an instant to help her sit up, pulling the pillows into place to support her. For a moment, Morgana reminds Arthur of a just-hatched falcon, all purple eyes and wobbly head. She swallows a little moan, and Arthur regrets disturbing her.

"There isn't much I can tell you," she says once she's settled. "They attacked us, and I drew my dagger, but it was useless. The sorcerer flung Uther against the headstone, and I—" Her voice wobbles, and she shuts her eyes. "I _heard_ it break. Uther's bones, whether it was his ribs or his back or… I don't know. But I heard it, it was so loud. And the way he fell…" She pulls her hand away from Arthur and presses the back of it against her mouth. In the darkness, it's hard to tell, but Arthur thinks she turns even paler. Gwen pets her hair, and Arthur waits while Morgana gets herself back under control. "I screamed, and there was a flash of light. Then something hit me in the center of my forehead. Right between the eyes. I woke up here." She starts to shake her head, then visibly regrets it and stills. "I'm sorry. I don't know anything more."

"It's all right," says Arthur. "The sorcerer's name was Tauren, and we knew he had been plotting against the crown for a while now. I think Father must have decided he wasn't enough of a threat to worry about, or perhaps he thought the escort of knights would be enough to protect you; but I know he was more concerned about the Questing Beast."

"This Tauren got away, then," says Morgana.

"No. He's dead."

"He is? But…" She frowns, then whimpers at the pain it causes her. "Never mind. The Questing Beast," she says. "Did you defeat it?"

"I did. We lost Sir Bedivere, but no one else. Your warnings and Gaius's advice saved us."

"And Emrys? The one you said would help you in secret?"

"He was there," says Arthur. "I think, even though he is a sorcerer, I might be able to persuade him to reveal himself soon." He does not miss the way that Merlin fidgets behind him, a quick shuffle of feet before he is still once more.

The corner of Morgana's mouth curls in an almost-smile, but she is visibly flagging, her eyelids drooping and her hair in disarray. "You mean now that Uther is gone," she says.

Arthur is fairly sure Morgana won't mourn Uther's passing the way he will, but she doesn't sound like she is deliberately trying to be cruel. "Yes," he says, shutting his eyes.

She squeezes his hand again, and he opens them. "So now you will be king," she says feebly. "Hopefully you will be better than Uther was."

Arthur looks down at their joined hands and hopes that she is right. "There is more we need to talk about," he says, "but I can see it will have to wait. For now, rest. Perhaps tomorrow we can talk about the future."

Morgana and Gwen both look at him nervously, then at one another, and he realizes his misstep. "There's nothing bad," he says. "But you were the king's ward, and now that he's gone, your position at court is of course going to change. And Uther left a final will for us to go over, and he told me some things you deserve to know. But you're in no condition to talk about those things right now; I shouldn't have brought them up."

"Arthur, you can't just leave it like that."

"It's nothing bad, I promise. Please, just rest for now. When you're able to carry on a conversation for more than five minutes at a time, send for me, and we'll talk."

And Morgana looks mutinous at that, but she also looks exhausted and sick, so she subsides quickly enough and gives him a nod.

* * *

 

"Stupid," he mutters to himself in the hallway. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"It's what you planned to talk about anyway," Merlin points out.

"Yes, but I saw she was in no condition for that conversation. Now she's going to fret and think there's some terrible plot against her, and she won't take any of Uther's arrangements well. Or she'll blame me for being complicit in trying to, I don't know, throw her out of the castle or something. You know her."

"I do, but sire, she's not that person yet. Remember, she still cares about you." Merlin shrugs, a little stiffly given his injuries from the day before, but continues on. "There was a conversation I wanted to have, too, remember," he says more quietly. "She was in no shape for that, either."

Arthur sighs, and resists the urge to drag his hands through his hair. "What are we going to do?"

"We'll figure something out."

Arthur has his doubts, but at least Merlin is by his side again. That has to count for something.

* * *

 

It's two days before Morgana is well enough to leave her chambers. Sir Bedivere's funeral has already been held, but Arthur has been holding off Uther's for as long as possible, partly so that Morgana could attend and partly so that the people of Camelot could pay their respects. Morgana and Uther may not have gotten along well, but Arthur knows that his father loved her, and he is certain that she cared about him.

In the end, Morgana watches from a secluded balcony above the throne room as Geoffrey and the priest read the words that are meant to lay Uther's spirit to rest. She's still sensitive to light and sound, but Gaius says she'll make a full recovery in another week or so.

 She is much steadier on her feet, to be sure, when she joins Arthur to lead the procession beneath the castle to the tomb that has been prepared for his father. Ygraine is buried at Tintagel, so he will not be laid to rest beside her, but in the royal tombs, a part of the castle that Arthur has never gotten to see before. Certainly, when he was a child, the door to this passageway was always kept locked. As far as Arthur knows, there is not even an effigy of his mother here, and he knows there is no likeness of her anywhere else in the castle.

Arthur spares a moment to wonder how different his childhood would have been, if his father had ever acknowledged Ygraine's existence with actions beyond his purge of magic.

It doesn't matter now, anyway.

* * *

 

"You flinched," he says later.

"What?" asks Merlin.

"When Geoffrey said, 'The king is dead; long live the king,'" he says, and sure enough, Merlin flinches again.

"Sorry," he says. "It's only… I've heard those words before, but whenever I hear them, I remember the time when Gwen was crowned queen. After Camlann."

"Ah." Arthur throws his arm across Merlin's shoulders, dragging the other man close. "I'm here, and you're here, and neither of us is going anywhere anytime soon," he says.

"Yes, sire," says Merlin. The man's smile is a little shaky, but genuine all the same.

* * *

 

Dinner that evening is subdued. Merlin and Gwen are the only servants present, and Morgana and Arthur the only ones at the table. He's sent all the guards to wait outside the doors rather than intrude on their privacy.

It's silent, and tense, and ridiculous.

"Gwen, Merlin, come sit," Arthur says finally.

"Sire?" Gwen is flustered. "I—I couldn't."

"You can. It's only the four of us."

"But you're the—" She stops herself and glances away.

"I'm the king," says Arthur heavily. He feels entirely too young and unprepared for this burden, even though he's carried it once before. "But we're not in court now. It's only dinner, and there is more food here than either of us could eat." He rubs at the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. "Come. Sit."

"It's all right, Gwen," says Merlin, pulling out a chair. There are only plates for Arthur and Morgana, of course, so he tears a loaf of bread in half to make trenchers for himself and Gwen, and starts selecting food from the various platters. Hesitantly, Gwen joins them, sitting beside Morgana as her mistress smiles.

"Are you finally going to tell me what all this is about?" Morgana asks, passing Gwen a plate of vegetables. "You insist it's nothing bad, but you keep giving me significant looks and pestering Gwen to see if I'm well enough to talk yet."

"I'm glad you're recovering, and not just for this," says Arthur, "but I haven't liked keeping you in the dark about any of it."

"Any of what?"

"Father was still alive when you and he were brought back to Camelot," explains Arthur. "We had a chance to say our goodbyes."

"I'm glad," she replies quietly, and he thinks she means it, but she is also clearly curious to know more.

"He revealed to me a number of things, including his last will and testament. But he also told me that we were not to wed, because… because you are my sister."

Morgana goes absolutely still. "What?"

"I didn't know until he told me," says Arthur, which is not precisely true, but it's close enough. In his first life, Morgana had had to find out from Morgause, and he had been the one to deal with the shock of it. That awareness is enough to gentle his voice. "He said he didn't want to dishonor your mother by revealing the secret. And that Gorlois never knew."

There are tears standing in Morgana's eyes when she finally speaks. "Did he despise me so much that he could not acknowledge me once Fa—Gorlois died?"

"I don't know what he was thinking," says Arthur. "But I know he loved you." He tries a smile. "You always could get away with more than I ever could."

She blinks away the tears, and her expression grows hard; it's the face that Arthur remembers from his first life, and his heart sinks. "And I suppose this means you're going to hide me away somewhere so that his _indiscretions_ won't become known? You said we needed to discuss my future."

"I'm sure it isn't like that," tries Gwen.

"It isn't." Arthur is quick to reassure them. "I only meant that you were the king's ward, and since Father isn't king anymore, that would change. I mean, come on, Morgana: aren't you tired of having a position that is essentially _decorative_? No seat at the council table, no lands, no power? You deserve more than that."

"Yes. I do." Morgana lifts her chin high. "And what do you think you're going to do about it?"

"Father's last will grants you Gorlois's estates in Cornwall, since there is no one else to hold them. I thought to name you a princess in full, rather than you continuing as a mere ward. But then I thought you might prefer to be a duchess instead, even though it's technically a lower rank. If you were Duchess of Cornwall, you would rule those lands in your own right, as a vassal to the crown, and not be subject to getting married off the first time some eligible man comes along with a treaty in his hand." Arthur shrugs and pops a piece of fruit into his mouth, more casually than he really feels. "I wanted the final decision to be yours, regardless."

Morgana is blinking at him in surprise. "You're serious."

"I am. As I said, you deserve more than to be a ward your entire life."

"The high lords of state have a place at your council table." She's testing him, as he knew she would, and he only smiles.

"Yes, and I would want someone there who has Camelot's interests at heart and can make me see the plight of the common people, if ever I were to overlook it."

"You're serious," she says again, and Arthur only smiles wider.

"This is the closest to speechless I think I've ever seen you." He leans on the arm of his chair, and his smile fades. He is entirely serious as he asks, "Will you take it?"

"I need to think."

"Of course."

Merlin asks Gwen to pass the vegetables, and Morgana jolts as if she'd forgotten they were there. The talk turns to other things, a bit of mending that is giving Gwen trouble, Merlin's recent adventures working for Gaius, that sort of thing. Morgana relaxes by inches until she and Gwen are both laughing at one of Merlin's stories, some tale of his childhood in Ealdor.

"And how is Ealdor?" asks Arthur. "Your mother?"

"She's well, although it feels like it's been forever since I've seen her last." Merlin winks at Arthur, who rolls his eyes at the obvious reference to their past lives. "I hope to see her soon," says Merlin. "After the coronation."

"Of course," says Arthur. "Provided things actually settle down around here for once."

"I'm still sorry about your friend Will," says Gwen. "I know you must miss him terribly."

This stops Merlin and he blinks. "Well. It's… he died well," he says after a moment. "And yeah, I do miss him, but… I guess I've been so busy. It feels like it was a long time ago. Maybe I should miss him more."

"Even though he was a sorcerer," says Arthur, giving Merlin a look, "he was a good man."

"Oh, _honestly_ , Arthur." Morgana looks irritated. "He saved my life. Of course he was a good man. I hope you will not continue Uther's stance against magic users."

Arthur raises his eyebrow at Merlin, who only rolls his eyes in response. "Arthur is poking at me, as usual, Lady Morgana," he says. "He wants me to tell you something important."

Guinivere tips her head in curiosity, and Morgana's gaze sharpens. "What is it?"

Merlin bites his lip, then takes a deep breath. He cups his hands together in front of them, then whispers something into them. His eyes flash gold, barely visible through the fan of his eyelashes, but it's enough for both women to gasp audibly. Then Merlin opens his hands, and a small butterfly flutters free and up into the air.

Arthur wants to poke fun at him for it—summoning a _butterfly_ , of all things—but it's just so _Merlin_ that he can't find it in himself to do more than smile _._

"You… you have magic," Morgana breathes.

"I do," says Merlin. His voice is quiet, but Arthur has never heard him so self-assured, calm. He knows his magic the way Arthur knows the sword, Arthur realizes, and he has nothing to prove to anyone. "I do, and… we think you do, too."


	19. Chapter 19

Across the table from Merlin, Morgana's face goes pale. Arthur sees her reach for Gwen's hand, under the table, and he can imagine her clutching it tightly. "What do you mean?"

"Do you remember what you told us, about Tauren's attack on you and Uther?" Merlin asks. His voice is gentle, persuasive. "You said there was a bright flash of light, after you screamed."

"Yes, but that couldn't have been me! It knocked me out, magic knocked me out. Tauren is the sorcerer, not me."

Arthur can't stand it anymore, and he reaches for his sister's other hand. "Morgana," he says quietly. "Don't be afraid."

"But I don't know what you're talking about!"

"I'm sorry," says Merlin. "I'm not trying to frighten you. And anyway, Uther is dead, and you know Arthur would never do anything to hurt you. You _know_ that."

Morgana looks at her plate, blinking rapidly, and Arthur thinks he's never seen her so vulnerable. "But I can't have magic."

"In a way, you've already had it for a while now," says Merlin. "You know your dreams come true sometimes."

"Yes," whispers Morgana.

"That's the mark of a seer," Merlin explains. "It's a different type of magic from what I can do, and I know you didn't choose it. But it's there, and it's real. With training, you could get a little control over your dreams, and only have visions when you wanted to." He smiles. "No more nightmares driving you mad."

Morgana looks up. "Gaius's potions don't work anymore," she says tentatively.

"That's because you were never sick. Being a seer isn't a curse, it's a gift, but like any magic, you have to tame it first before you can really use it. As for Gaius's potions, it's possible to build up a tolerance to sedatives so that they aren't as effective. It might be that your gift is getting stronger, or it might just be that you've taken the sleeping draughts for so long that they've stopped working."

"Forgive me, Merlin, my lord," cuts in Gwen, "but what does this have to do with the attack on Morgana and Uther?"

"You said there was a flash of light," Merlin repeats.

"Yes." Morgana brings both her hands up to rest on the edge of the table.

"When you screamed," he presses.

"Yes, but that wasn't—"

"I think it might have been," says Merlin. "Uncontrolled magic, before a sorcerer learns to manage it, is tied to emotions. You were frightened and angry, and your magic burst out of you. Do you remember, you were surprised when we told you Tauren was dead?"

Morgana blinks, and her expression goes carefully blank. "You think I killed him."

Merlin nods. His voice is soft when he says, "I'm almost certain you did." When Morgana's eyes begin to well up, he continues, "You saved the lives of the other knights there, and made it possible for Arthur to say goodbye to Uther. Tauren would surely have killed them all, Morgana."

"I don't want to be corrupted," she answers in a small voice. "If the very first thing I've ever done with my magic is to kill someone…"

Merlin shakes his head, then gets up and circles the table until he can kneel at Morgana's side, between her and Arthur. He looks up at her and takes her hands in his. "Magic doesn't work like that," he says. "It's like… it's like clay. You can shape it into whatever you want, and what you shape it into depends on you. You can do horrible things with magic, but also amazing things, too. Beautiful things." Arthur sees Merlin squeeze her hands once before letting go. "I've had magic since I was born. I could move objects across the room before I could even walk, play with the flames on the hearth before I could speak. But I've killed with it, too, to protect Arthur and Camelot. Would you say that I am corrupt?"

"No," whispers Morgana. "No, I know you, Merlin. You're one of the kindest people I know."

"Because magic doesn't corrupt the person who uses it. Or, not necessarily, anyway. Any kind of real power can do that. Being _king_ can do that. Power can go to your head, make you think you're better than other people." He smiles then, and Morgana blinks. "My mother would have boxed my ears if I'd ever gotten those sorts of ideas into my head."

She smiles in return then, because Merlin's grin has always been infectious. "I can well imagine."

"Merlin," says Gwen slowly, "I have a question."

"Go ahead," he says as he stands.

"When my father was sick, with that strange plague that struck the lower town… Arthur told me privately that he'd found a magical poultice under my father's pillow, when he and the guards searched our home. Was that… was that you?"

"I couldn't save everyone," says Merlin. "At the time I didn't know much about healing magic; that was the first poultice I'd ever made."

"But you saved his life." In an instant, Gwen is on her feet and hugging Merlin hard. "You saved my papa. Thank you! Thank you _so much_."

As Arthur watches, Merlin goes stiff for just an instant, then practically melts into her embrace, and Arthur is left to wonder just how badly a man like Merlin would need that sort of contact, after hundreds of years alone. Or perhaps it's the gratitude, or the chance to be fully known without having to hide a part of himself away. "You're my friend, Gwen," he replies, and his voice is thick with tears.

Arthur glances at Morgana and fights back a smile; she is watching the pair of them hug, and looks much the way she did when she first discovered a litter of kittens behind the stables. Merlin is very close to getting himself adopted, if he isn't careful. As if sensing his amusement, she drops her gaze and meets his, but instead of going on the defensive, she grins, as carefree as he's ever seen her.

"I have magic," she says, testing the words on her tongue.

"I know," replies Arthur. "And it will be all right. We'll find someone to teach you."

At this, a little furrow forms on her brow. "Why can't Merlin teach me? And what of the law?"

Merlin and Gwen break apart, and Merlin turns back to face Morgana. "I can't teach you anything about your seer abilities," he says apologetically. "I've learned a little scrying, but it's not the same as having it come to me naturally, the way it does to you. We'll have to consider looking to the druids. There might be a seer among them who can teach you how to get the ability under control."

"As for the law," says Arthur, "I intend to change it. I am still cautious; I think sorcery may still need to be regulated, to prevent abuses of that sort of power as Merlin describes… and as we've _seen_ , when people have attacked Camelot. But a man healing his _goat_ , or helping crops to grow… there's nothing there to punish."

Merlin is positively beaming at him now, from his spot behind Morgana. Gwen still has her arms around him, though he barely seems to notice.

"When will you announce the change?" asks Morgana.

"After my coronation," Arthur answers. "It will take time; I'll need to convince the council. Likely I will be forced to make gradual changes to the law rather than a single sweeping edict. But the changes will come, whether they like it or not."

* * *

 

The next several days are spent with Arthur preparing for the coronation ceremony. Delegates from all across Camelot are arriving daily, as well as a few envoys from outside their borders. Bayard of Mercia is there, as well as Rodor of Nemeth and his daughter, Mithian. He has to greet them, invite them to council, and all the while demonstrate to them that he may be young for the throne, but he is not unprepared, indecisive, or weak.

He has several years of rule under his belt that he is unable to speak of, but it shows nevertheless in the confidence with which he makes his decisions.

Arthur wishes daily that he were with Morgana and Merlin, who have spent their free time studying magic together. It's not that he wishes he had magic, just that he wishes he could feel as carefree and relieved as Morgana clearly does. She's delighted in her newfound power, and now that she doesn't walk in fear for her life, she smiles and laughs more than he's ever seen. Uther may have loved her, but he never would have accepted this side of her, there can be no doubt. With his memories of how she turned against them last time, Arthur still feels leery himself, but this Morgana has no desire to become queen.

"I'm already Duchess of Cornwall. I'll have my own populace to protect, in fief to the crown of course. My own armies to command. My own lands and wealth. It's enough. Uther may have failed me as a father in every possible way, but you, brother, have made up for all his mistakes and then some." She smiles again. "Brother. I'm still not used to calling you that."

"I've always thought of you as a sister, if it helps," says Arthur.

"Yes, the annoying sister who bested you at the sword until you finally grew taller than me."

"My annoying sister whom I care for deeply," he says, "despite how she loves to needle me over _things that never happened_."

Morgana actually giggles, before dropping him a curtsey and walking away.

* * *

 

"I need you to come with me," says Merlin.

It's a mark of their friendship that Arthur's first instinct is not to berate him for telling his king what to do. "Why?" he asks instead.

"I remembered that Kilgharrah is still imprisoned beneath the castle. I want to free him, but I'll need your sword first."

And Arthur remembers that he had considered it as well, but he's not sure he's ready to take the risk. "How will we contain it?" he asks. "Do you remember what that dragon did?"

"He hasn't done it in this life, and I can get his promise that he never will."

Arthur scoffs a little. "Is this where you tell me you're also a dragonlord in addition to being a ridiculously powerful sorcerer?"

Merlin blinks. "Didn't we already go over this?"

Arthur can feel his jaw dropping. They had talked about his sorcery, to an extent, but they'd also agreed to mostly leave Merlin's past accomplishments in the past. At the time, Arthur had wanted to know, but had also wanted to spare a half-mad Merlin from reliving some of his greatest regrets. "You mean you _are_ a dragonlord?"

"Erm. Actually, hm, I might not be anymore. It's… the power is inherited, father to son. I never knew Balinor was my father until the day we set out to find him. And then when he died, I sort of… inherited it."

Arthur stares at him for a long moment, before the relevant part sinks in. "But as far as we know, Balinor is still alive in this life."

"Right, exactly. So I might not be a dragonlord. I won't know until I confront Kilgharrah."

"That's an enormous risk you'd be taking," Arthur points out. "Wouldn't it be better to wait until we brought Balinor back here?"

Merlin looks away with a little scoff of his own. "Do you think we could really convince him to come? Back to Camelot, where he was first betrayed?"

He's right, of course, and Arthur grimaces. "He might do it for you."

"He doesn't even know I'm his son."

And that brings up another point, rather an important one to Arthur's way of thinking. "Your father is out there and he's never met you. And in our first life, you only knew him for a day before he was killed."

"…Yes?"

Arthur licks his lips, trying to think of how best to say it. "If I had the chance to speak to my mother again, to really see her again and not some false illusion… I would take it."

Merlin sits down slowly, looking thoughtful and possibly a bit shifty. "I admit I have plans I'd like to see through, after the coronation."

Plans? Arthur narrows his eyes. "No secrets, Merlin."

"No. No secrets. I was going to free Kilgharrah and send him to Balinor with a message. Or else I was going to visit my mother and then go and find Balinor myself."

"If you think you're going without me, you're out of your damned mind," says Arthur.

"You'll be king."

"And I'm still capable of traveling incognito when the need arises!" He takes a deep breath and forces himself to calm. "Look, you may have magic, but you're not invincible. Someone has to look out for you, or your bumbling about in the woods will get you caught and killed by Cenred's men."

Merlin worries at his lip with his teeth, and doesn't answer right away. "I'll think about it," he says finally.

Arthur has to sigh, because of course Merlin will think that he can just decide these things on his own. "And if your king orders it, you'll do it whether you like it or not."

The other man rolls his eyes, but he at least says, "Yes, sire," even if it's clear there is plenty more he'd like to add. Instead, he stands up and asks, "Are you coming with me to talk to Kilgharrah?"

"Have you seen him at all since you, er, came back?"

"No." Merlin grins. "I'm looking forward to his expression once he realizes who I am."

* * *

 

"Ah, the young warlock and the returned king," says the dragon, when they go down to meet it later that night.

"Not so young anymore," says Merlin, and the great beast tips its head in consideration, then its eyes go wide in surprise.

"How is this possible?" it demands. "Unless… ah, yes. There is the feel of the Goddess about you, now, Merlin. And something else…"

Merlin nods, and looks the dragon in the eye, and softly says something that sounds like, _"O drakon_ _…"_

If the dragon appeared surprised before, it is nothing to the visible shock on its face as it rears back from them both. "Dragonlord," he breathes, and if Arthur didn't know better, he'd identify that tone as something close to hope.

"Do you know whether Balinor still lives?" Merlin asks.

"He does," says the dragon. "I can feel his heartbeat as if it were my own. And yet, you have inherited his power. I can feel that, as well. How is this possible?" it asks again.

"Long story, from our first life," says Merlin. "But it does mean that my father is no longer the last dragonlord in Albion. More than that, you are not the last dragon."

"What?!" The dragon's voice carries a roar, just barely buried beneath the word.

"There is an egg in the Tomb of Ashkenar," says Merlin, and this is news to Arthur. "We have one third of the key, and there is a thief looking for it. In about a year's time, perhaps two, he will come here, I will take the rest of the key from him, and I will retrieve the egg from the tomb. I will call Aithusa by her name, and she will hatch."

"'Light of the sun'," says the dragon; Arthur does not know what that phrase might mean, but its tone now is one of wonder and incredulous joy. "You cannot know what this news means to me, young dragonlord."

"I told you, I'm not so young anymore," says Merlin with a wry smile.

And yet, you remain younger than I am." It actually smiles too, and Arthur represses a shudder at the number and size of its teeth that are revealed.

Merlin nods. "You and she are the last dragons in Albion, it's true," he says, "but Uther was arrogant to believe he'd eradicated all of you, and all the dragonlords too. He drove most of you away rather than killing you, and never even realized it. In Europe—the continent, I mean—there are more dragons and dragonlords whose lineage remains unbroken."

He pauses, but the dragon says nothing. Arthur wonders if it's actually been rendered speechless by this news.

"You could take Aithusa there, if you wanted," says Merlin. "Or you could remain here and reestablish the lineage of dragons in Albion. I could travel to the continent later and see about persuading some of them to return with me."

"Why do you tell me this?" the dragon asks finally.

"Because I want two things from you, and these tidings are a fair price for what I'm going to ask."

"You could command me, dragonlord; you know that."

"I do," shrugs Merlin, "but we are kin. I don't want to force obedience from you, or take your choices away."

The dragon's eyes are wide for a long moment, then to Arthur's surprise, it shuts them and bends its neck, touching its nose to the stone nearest their ledge. "What would you have of me, then?" it asks, and the hairs on the back of Arthur's neck stand up. It's the display of all that power, he thinks, willingly submitting to Merlin's command.

"Arthur is going to use the sword you helped forge to break your chains," says Merlin. "You will be free. The first thing I want from you is a promise not to exact revenge on Camelot, or Arthur, or anyone else. The man who imprisoned you is dead; the people of Camelot are innocent of any wrongdoing against you."

The dragon looks a bit disgruntled at this, but does not complain. "And the second?"

"I know where Balinor is living now, in Cenred's kingdom," says Merlin. "He's alone, in a cave, and still believes he is hunted by Uther's men. He deserves better. I want you to go to him, and tell him everything I've just told you. Tell him the truth. Tell him as much as you want about me and Arthur. And then tell him his son wants to meet him, in Ealdor, where Hunith is still waiting for him."

"That is all?" asks the dragon, a bit incredulously if Arthur is any judge. "You demand nothing more than that?"

"You were imprisoned unjustly, kept here wrongly, as a trophy to one man's arrogance and hatred," says Merlin. Arthur shifts in discomfort, but he knows that his friend speaks the truth. "Freeing you and Balinor both is the least we can do to right those wrongs."

Those eerie golden eyes fix on Arthur for the first time. "And you, young king, you approve of these commands from your warlock? He acts with your blessing?"

Arthur draws himself up, and finds that the words are true as soon as they leave his mouth. "He does."

"Then free me, Arthur, and all shall be as Merlin commands."

They climb down the ledge and along the cavern wall, down and down and down into the chill and damp until they reach the pillar of rock where the dragon's chain ends. Arthur's heart is pounding so hard, remembering what happened the last time this dragon was released from its prison. Merlin didn't order him to leave Camelot alone; is the word of a dragon of any worth? Will it keep its promises?

"My people will be safe from you?" he can't help but ask.

"It is wise of you to be cautious, young king, but yes. Merlin has appealed to the bond we share as dragon kin. Your people will not be harmed. The man whose blood I would have sought is dead. Let my hatred die with him."

Arthur nods, then gently pushes Merlin back out of the way. He draws Excalibur and raises the blade high, as Merlin's eyes glow gold.

He strikes. The clang of metal against metal echoes throughout the cave, and the entire chain, from anchor to shackle, explodes in a burst of sparks, the noise matched only by the dragon's roar.

There is a gust of wind that kicks up grit from the floor of the cavern, forcing Arthur to shut his eyes, and the sound of mighty wings.

When he looks up again, the dragon is gone, and Merlin is beaming, with tears in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done with this story, I think. Although I've been wrong about such things before. :)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May not be my best chapter, but I wanted to wrap up the story and call it complete. I hope you all enjoy it.

Over the coming days, rumors fly. Many people claim to have seen a great beast in the skies over Camelot, on the day that Arthur and Merlin freed Kilgharrah. The two of them spend a lot of time sharing secret glances over it, and dodging Gaius's worried or doubtful facial expressions.

No one has reported any deaths or damage, or even close encounters really, but the people are worried. No doubt they are wondering if this is an omen presaging Arthur's reign as king. The story has already spread of the Questing Beast and its status as a harbinger of great change. Now, the people whisper, Uther is dead, and a dragon has been spotted after they were long believed to be extinct. What could it mean, they ask themselves.

Arthur can't blame them. He's wondering the same thing himself, wondering if he's done the right thing.

Finally, Arthur is made king, before the court and assembled allies. The crown weighs heavy on his head, for all that the weight is familiar from his past life, and he knows that the act of truly becoming king will take much longer than just the duration of a single ceremony. There are speeches to give, his populace to greet, a banquet to host, and more; all the steps of the ancient ritual must be taken in order, but even they do not make him king, not truly. It will not be until tomorrow, when the ceremonies are over, that he will be able to begin his reign in earnest.

Now, however, he is stepping out onto the balcony, overlooking the courtyard, to deliver a speech to the cheering populace. They quiet quickly, but he can see in their faces—or hopes he can—the absence of fear. Respect and loyalty are what he wants from his people, and he hopes to earn it every day of his reign. Morgana stands beside him; Merlin is waiting just inside, unseen. Arthur takes a deep breath, and begins his speech.

"Today, I am your king," he says simply, and the crowd cheers. It's almost enough to make Arthur blush. When they quiet once more, he continues, "It is my hope and my duty to serve and protect Camelot as my father did. To serve and protect you, the people, who are the heart of Camelot and who make her strong. My father ruled well, and in many ways I hope to follow in his footsteps. But there is one area where he and I must differ, going forward.

"My father believed that all magic was evil, a corrupting influence that must be eradicated for the good of the kingdom. For better or worse, I have learned that that is not always the case. Magic may be used to harm, or to heal; to curse, or to bless; to injure, or to protect. It may be rooted in cruelty, yes, but it may also be rooted in joy and beauty. I have seen this with my own eyes, and know it to be true."

The crowd in the courtyard is absolutely silent; Arthur can only remember such quiet preceding an execution, and hopes that it is not a sign for his own future.

"It is the prerogative of the king to make, and to change, the laws that most benefit this kingdom and her people. So today, as I begin my reign, let it be known: From this day forward, the practice of magic, the possession of magical items, and the association with known magic users will no longer be _automatically_ punishable by death. Instead, these issues will be dealt with on a case-by-case basis. Knowingly consorting with traitors is treason, whether sorcery is involved or not. Theft is a crime, whether the deed is done by magical means or otherwise. But assisting a healer, _speaking_ to a druid, or seeking the blessing of the Old Religion over one's crops does nothing to harm Camelot, and such actions will not be punished."

"That is good to hear, Arthur Pendragon."

The crowd murmurs and parts, pulling away from a trio of men in plain clothing and cloaks, including an elder leaning on a staff. As one, they drop their hoods, and look up. The elder pulls back his sleeve to reveal a tattoo on the inside of his wrist, visible even from the balcony, and those on the ground who see it gasp. Beside him, Morgana does the same.

"Druids," she breathes.

At the edges of the crowd, the guards begin to move in, but Arthur raises his hand and they stop. "Why have you come?" he asks.

"There are prophecies spoken among our people," says the elder; "prophecies of a great king who will one day unite Albion and bring forth a golden age for all her people, both those with magic and those without. We believe that you are the king spoken of in those prophecies," he says, and the people around him begin to murmur. "We came to see you for ourselves and to determine whether our hopes would be fulfilled in you."

"And what have you determined?" asks Arthur.

The elder smiles. "We have only just arrived, oh king, and it is early to tell. But I think we have little to fear from you, as we once feared your predecessor."

Arthur nods, then orders the druids brought into the castle as guests, with a final proclamation: "Let today be a celebration, not of my reign, which has only just begun, but of peace, and of the end of bloodshed."

* * *

 

Morgana is giving him that look again, the one of pleased astonishment, as though he's done something right and she can't quite believe that he had it in him to think of it in the first place.

The druids join them at the banquet, an island of stillness amid the crowd, serene and silent, even as the court eyes them nervously. Since no one else wants to get too close to them, Merlin ends up serving both Arthur and the druids, along with the little boy they brought with them. He follows every move Merlin makes with wide eyes, and Morgana greets him with an enthusiastic hug.

"Do you remember Mordred?" she asks, smiling.

Arthur blinks. He certainly remembers the knight who killed him, and he remembers the druid boy he'd saved in his first life and been flogged for in his second, but for whatever reason he'd never made the connection that they were the same person. "I do," he says, and she looks at him strangely.

"Is something wrong?"

"Not at all," says Arthur, bringing his thoughts back to the present. "Welcome to Camelot."

"It is our honor, Arthur Pendragon," says their elder. "I am Tegan, and these are Derwyn and Arawn."

After the meal begins, the druids stop speaking entirely. Merlin explains that they can send their thoughts to one another and communicate without words.

"And can you hear them?" Arthur can't help but ask.

Merlin looks a little sheepish. "Yeah. Derwyn and Arawn have quite a sense of humor, actually. I think they're mostly trying to keep Mordred from feeling too nervous though. The last time he was in this castle…"

"Yes, I remember." Arthur takes a sip of his wine and looks up to see the druids watching him. He gives them a little nod, and sees the elder nod in response. "So they're talking with you?"

Merlin shrugs. "Those prophecies Tegan mentioned, in the courtyard? Well… they include me, too. I think they're checking me out just as much as they're observing you."

"Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know." Merlin frowns. "But I get the impression that they're waiting for something."

* * *

 

When the warning bell starts to ring, Arthur almost sighs. Of _course_ something was going to happen at his coronation. Something always happens.

He turns to share a look of commiseration with Merlin, only to find him frowning at the door, a look of intense concentration on his face. The druids, for their part, are watching Merlin, as if he's about to do some kind of trick. _Well_ , Arthur thinks, _he is a sorcerer. Maybe he is._

"What is it?" he asks, voice low.

"Kilgharrah is calling to me," Merlin answers. His voice is distant and he hasn't taken his eyes off the door.

"The dragon?"

"Yeah." Arthur smacks him on the shoulder and he jolts in surprise, turning to glare at his king. "What was that for?"

"What's he _saying_ , if he's calling to you?"

"It's not words, you prat, it's… I can't really explain it, I just know that he wants me to come to him."

Arthur is about to ask more, when the doors are thrown open and Sir Leon enters, looking more than a little shocked.

"Sire," he says, then pauses for breath. "Sire."

"Sir Leon, your report."

"There is a—a dragon, sire. Outside the city gates. But it… there is a sorcerer as well, with it."

Arthur presses his lips together as he stands. He may not have killed that damned beast in his first life, but if it's harmed a single one of his people, he'll make certain he does in his second. "Casualties?"

"That's… sire, there are none. The dragon is not attacking, and neither is the sorcerer."

Arthur ignores the murmuring of the banquet guests. "I suppose the sorcerer has issued a challenge, or something to that effect?"

If anything, Leon looks even more nervous now than when he came in. "He gave me this."

Ordinarily, a king waits for his subjects to come to him, but a king also does not waste time on protocol when there is a dragon at the city gates. Arthur quickly rounds the banquet table to take the folded scrap of parchment from Leon's outstretched hand. He can feel Merlin's eyes—everyone's, but Merlin's especially—on him as he reads it.

Well.

* * *

 

"But what did it _say?"_ Merlin is eaten alive with curiosity, and if the situation were not so serious, Arthur would be laughing his head off at him. Keeping his mouth shut is not only good protocol as a king in the public eye, it's immensely entertaining right at the moment, as they walk briskly to Arthur's chambers. The dragon might not be attacking, but Arthur isn't stupid enough to go out to face it without armor on.

"You'll find out."

Merlin lowers his voice. "Do you think it's Balinor? I mean, it has to be, right?"

Arthur is almost certain that it is, based on the note the sorcerer had sent to him, but what he says is, " _We'll_ find out."

* * *

 

Of course Morgana refuses to stay behind. Neither do the visiting kings and their entourages, and neither do the druids. Naturally, Leon has assembled as many knights as he possibly can to face the threat as well. Their procession attracts attention, too, so that by the time they reach the lower town gates, almost the entire city seems to have turned out to see what will happen next. There are so many people going out to see what Arthur will do, it's almost as if the original coronation ceremony was insufficient and it's time to hold another one outdoors.

When they get there, almost everyone falls back a step; the various noble entourages go up onto the walls to watch, while the knights fan out to surround the dragon, and Arthur and Merlin continue forward. The two of them must seem absolutely fearless, or foolish, to those watching; the dragon looks even bigger in daylight than it had in the cavern, and seems to smirk at them all. No doubt it knows just how ineffective their swords and arrows will be against it, if it were to decide to attack.

Beside the dragon stands Leon's sorcerer, and Arthur can hear Merlin's breath catch as they meet one another's eyes. Balinor looks exactly as Arthur remembers him.

Arthur draws himself up, not arrogant, but dignified. He is king once again and remembers well what it means to open diplomatic negotiations with a potentially hostile party. "I am Arthur, King of Camelot," he says, looking Balinor in the eye.

The other man may be dressed in huntsman's clothing, but he holds himself with the bearing of a king. "And I am Balinor, dragonlord. Is it true, what Kilgharrah told me?"

"That depends what he told you," Arthur hedges.

"That you freed him," declares Balinor, and Arthur hears the murmur ripple through the crowd. "That you freed him, and sent him to me with the tidings that I was no longer to be hunted like an animal."

"Then yes, it is true what he told you," says Arthur. "My father kept this dragon imprisoned as a monument to his own hatred and arrogance. I could not abide that, and freed him as soon as I was able." He takes a breath. "As for you, my understanding is that the dragonlords were once allies to the kings of Camelot, and that my father betrayed them. Betrayed you."

"That he did."

Arthur nods. "I am not my father."

"And that is what I came to see." He glances at Merlin curiously. "Among other things."

Merlin, for all that he is centuries old and has seen more heartache than any man should, is practically vibrating with the need to get closer to his father. The younger Merlin might have already tried introducing himself by now, but this older Merlin has learned a bit about protocol, it would seem. Or at least about behaving in front of a crowd.

"This is Merlin, son of Hunith, from the village of Ealdor in Essetir," says Arthur. "When Uther was king, he named Merlin my manservant after the first time he saved my life. He's saved me many times since then as well, and I am proud to call him my friend."

"Hunith married, then," says Balinor, ignoring Arthur entirely. If Arthur weren't looking for it, he'd have missed the tentativeness in the other man's expression.

Merlin speaks up for the first time. "No," he says quietly, "she never did."

Balinor swallows. "You look like her," he says. "You have her eyes; her facial expressions."

"Your hair, though," says Merlin, and there are tears standing in his eyes even though he's smiling.

Arthur takes a deep breath in, then lets it out slowly. "I imagine the two of you would like time to get to know one another," he says. "And I would happily invite you into the castle and to dinner… if I thought you would accept the invitation."

Something in Balinor's expression actually seems to soften a little, though he tears his gaze away from Merlin with visible effort. "Aye, the last time I was here wasn't the most enjoyable experience. And Kilgharrah has seen enough of the place to last the rest of his life."

"Of course."

"But you'd be welcome in my camp, Pendragon, if you wished to continue this conversation elsewhere." Balinor glances up at the walls, packed full of soldiers and noblemen.

"There's a clearing, north of the city by about a mile," Merlin says. "It's where I—that is… there is plenty of room there for Kilgharrah to land."

"I know." Balinor actually smiles, and suddenly Arthur can see the family resemblance. "It's been there since before you were born."

"Right," says Merlin with a rising blush; it's amusing, but Arthur isn't satisfied.

"Were those the only reasons you came to Camelot?" he asks. "You took a great risk; was it only to see your son, and to see what sort of man I am?"

"Yes and no." Balinor shakes his head, and steps back to a more formal distance. "The druids met me, on my way to Ealdor, and told me the story of the Once and Future King, and his companion, Emrys, the greatest sorcerer ever to walk the earth. They believe you are that king, and that you, Merlin, are Emrys."

Another ripple goes through the crowd, because Balinor has spoken just loudly enough to give up Merlin's secret to them all. Arthur glances quickly at Merlin, but the other man only shuts his eyes and sighs.

"I am he," he says, "for my sins."

"You have magic?" presses Balinor.

"Well, I didn't get it from my mother," says Merlin, and Balinor is startled into a laugh.

* * *

 

Balinor stays, camping with Kilgharrah in the clearing north of the city, and Merlin visits him every day. They spend hours together, but Arthur can't really begrudge him the time. If his mother were to somehow return from the dead… but no. Arthur remembers the Horn of Cathbhadh all too well.

The druids watch everything almost eagerly, and when pressed, Tegan explains that this, the bond between Merlin and Arthur, is the fulfillment of a prophecy that has stood for centuries.

"The hand of the Goddess is upon you, oh king," he says, "and we who are alive to witness it can scarcely bear the thought of returning to our homes and _missing_ everything that you will do together."

Well, Arthur thinks, when they put it like that, he can't blame them for staying around either.

Merlin and Arthur spend their evenings together planning and trying to remember everything that went wrong in their first life. Nimueh is still out there, and Morgause, although now that Uther is dead, both women may leave Arthur in peace. Cornelius Sigan nearly destroyed Camelot. There is a dragon egg to recover and hatch, although Arthur is not at all sure how he feels about the idea of a baby dragon hanging about the castle and getting into things.

Still, it is clear that things are on a better track for them now than they ever were in Arthur's first life. Balinor is alive, and considering renewing the ancient pact between the kings of Camelot and the dragonlords. Morgana is aware of her magic, and learning from the druids a little more every day. Mordred follows her, Arthur, or Merlin like a puppy every day, and has recently shown an interest in taking up the sword. Lancelot has returned to town and brought Percival with him, and has begun courting Guinevere, who seems eager to return his suit. Best of all, in Arthur's opinion, news of the dragon has spread, and the testing of Camelot's borders has virtually ceased. Nemeth and Mercia renew their alliance within a few months of Arthur's taking up the crown. All in all, life is good.

There is still much for them to do, but Arthur's friendship with Merlin is closer than ever, and Arthur feels confident that between the two of them, they can face any hardship that may come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end! Thank you all for reading and for your lovely comments. If you like my work, maybe you could swing by and [check out my Tumblr.](http://peaceheather.tumblr.com) Thanks again!


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